AGENT MATT
by Iron writer
Summary: Matt always wonderd what his dad was it's not until after his funeral he finds out the truth.  Matt is now worried about his future,what will become of Julie, would he lose the only family member he has left? And just how good of a spy is matt?
1. My dad the mystery man

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter1: My Dad The Mystery Man**

It was nearly three o'clock on a pleasant summer afternoon and it was nearly home time for the student's of redington high. Down the halls all was silent and the end of the long corridor was an English room where students were handing in their homework… JOY (!). to make things even worse they had to present their work to the front of the class as the teacher called them out one by one some kids were doodling in the back. One boy had brown hair in like a spiky afro style wearing his school uniform green jacket and green trousers. Next to him was a girl wearing exactly the same except for the green skirt and that she was a beautiful girl. She had short brown hair with green eyes and skin you could dance on. Suddenly the teacher called out a name.

"Matt ishida" he said from the front of the class. No reply. "Matt ishida please come up to the front and present your work." He said louder. Still no reply. As the boy with the spiky afro turned to his left to see a boy with blonde hair wearing his school uniform but with black bike gloves and an mp3 player playing. As he reached out to the ear plugs he pulled one out. As he pulled it out the boy reacted his voice was a whisper since he was at the back of the class.

"Hey bonehead"

"What?" asked matt angrily.

"Teacher wants you"

"Thank you tai" replied the teacher. As matt looked sharply at Tai thoughts of revenge went racing through his mind he looked at the girl next to him and completely, as he walked down the row of chairs and approached the front of the class matt was holding a single piece of paper titled 'MY FAMILY' there wasn't much on it about a few sentences.

"My family." Pronounced matt "there isn't much about my family there's my brother T.K. and my mum but I haven't seen them in so many years, I have no grand parents all I have is my dads house keeper Julie and my dad." As he continued he felt lower knowing that everyone else's dad had a better job than matt's dad. "My dad's job is being a TV. Reporter on boring things like financial right now he's over in England looking at the London stock exchange." As matt finished the teacher gave him a

"D-" he said to matt judging him on his work "it wasn't quite as insightful as I hoped." As the bell rang matt had his homework handed back to him he couldn't believe the low grade he got for his assignment. As he walked out of the classroom Tai and the girl were waiting for him.

"Nice to see your keeping your low grad average as usual matt." As matt listened to the words of what his friend said he knew that Tai was right. "You are such a loser!" he carried on. At this point the girl behind them had enough of what Tai had said and with a sudden outburst shouted at him.

"why don't you just get lost tai" Matt and Tai were shocked at what their friend just said usually she's as quiet as a mouse but she just turned into a lion all of a sudden. As they turned round to see her angry expression she looked away and walked down the other way and muttered. "Bullies are so last year." As she walked away matt and Tai were still looking at her, they never knew that she could throw a violent mood swing like that before but then again she was fourteen.

"Wow! I never knew she had it in her!" said Tai impressed with this girls action. Matt wasn't thinking about her at all he was thinking when his dad is coming home. Meanwhile in England at a top secret place out near London some men were loading boxes into a van each crate was labelled 'V TECH INDUSTRIES' suddenly from out of nowhere a stack of crates blew up into a huge fireball and out of the flames rode a man on a motor cycle. As he burst though the flames like some kind of daredevil he zoomed round the corner, as he turned some of the workers started shooting at him.

"It's him, Kill him!" ordered one of the chief supervisors. As the workers fired their bullets the motorcyclist didn't mind the bullets firing at him it was the motorcycles chasing him with guns that worried him. As he sped up and through the crash barriers he knew out on the open road he could easily out maneuver them by using very complicated strategies. As the motor bikes came closer and closer he braked hard and was riding on one wheel just like an acrobat as the two motor bikes crashed into each other the riders were thrown clear off the road. As he approached a beach he decide it was time to end this game. As he skidded his bike slid under a row boat on the beach and him with it as well, the row fell on top of him and he was trapped. As the other cyclists pulled out their guns they fired on the rowing boat hopefully to kill this man but as they lifted up the boat they realised that the engine was running but there was no sign of the enemy spy. Suddenly a screeching of tyres came above them as they looked up they saw the licence plate '5py'. As the hand of the spy turned his rear view mirror he could see the bad guys he just escaped and to finish job off he pressed his radio button to get a selection of armaments. as he pressed the one that said missile a rocket came shooting out of his exhaust pipe. As the rocket closed in on the men they looked down at their feet to see fuel leaking out underneath them as the rocket zoomed in ever closer the men started to run hoping to escape the explosion. Then without warning the rocket and the motorbike exploded into an enormous fireball and as the fuel ignited the men were thrown forward. In the spy's rear view mirror he could see the explosion but it looked a lot smaller than he planned it to be.

Mean while back at reading ton high matt grabbed his bag and flung his bag on the special rack he and his dad built. He was just about to set off when he turned round to seethe girl that defend matt from Tai, not that he needed it. As she walked out the gates matt called out to her. "Hey sakura" as she looked up she was startled to see matt

"oh…" she said shocked she see him has her face turned red she replied "hey matt" as matt plucked up the courage to ask something he wanted to ask her for a long time now.

"sakura… I was wondering… do you want to do something this weekend?" as he asked bravely but sakura replied.

"no." as matt exhaled in disappointment sakura tried to explain her reason why. "I can't I got horse riding lessons with Madison on Saturday and then me and my brother are going into town for dads birthday." As matt looked in despair of not having a brother sakura realised what she had just said. "OH!" as matt started to pedal away a cold wind blew on a summers day. "I'm very sorry matt…" matt accepted her apology but still pedalled away except faster this time.

"it doesn't matter." Said matt unhappily.

"maybe next weekend" she shouted before matt turned a comer

"whatever!" he replied back. As matt raced down the road something was flashing in his pocket. It was the new blue tooth attachment his dad gave just last week. As he attached to his ear and pressed the green button on his phone.

"hello" matt answered.

"hey how are you champ?" matt's dad replied.

"I'm great. Are you on your way home?"

"sure am I'll be there tomorrow after you finish from school."

"how was London's stock exchange?"

"oh you know same as always."

"that's just it dad, I don't know you never tell me"

"there's nothing to really tell matt. About last week I know I said I'll be there but business trip came out of nowhere and you know."

"business as usual." replied matt sadly.

"im sorry I bailed on you but after I rest up on Friday you and I spend the whole weekend together with Julie how about it!"

"wow, really dad!"

"of course matt when was the last time I let you down"

"you want me to answer that!"

"yeah I know. I'll see you tomorrow okay!"

"im glad you called dad, it's been a long time since I last heard from you."

"me too matt, me too. Bye" as he hanged up he was wondering what to do with is son once he got back. Suddenly something drooped next to his car. As he quickly turned he saw a person with red hair wearing a black suit hanging upside down from a helicopter. "what the-" before he could finish his sentence the person hanging upside down pulled out two automatic pistols and fired a couple of shots into his chest. As he laid dead at the traffic lights the person hanging upside down got right side up and removed something from his pocket. As he said with a cold Russian accent.

"I'll ve'll taking this." He said as he removed the disk that he stole. It said on the cover "V TECH VIRUS"


	2. A new agent is born

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 2: A new agent is born **

It was Friday after school the same day matt's dad was coming home matt raced home on his bicycle like some motorbike champion reaching for the finish line. As he parked his bike in the bike rack he wondered what his dad had brought him from England. Every time matt's dad bails on him he gets matt a present to say sorry from the place he last visited. Little did he know that behind the door in his house was a woman wearing a kimono; waiting for him like leopard waiting patiently for its prey. As she reached for the butches' knife and held it steady the front door opened and in walked matt.

"Julie I'm home" he called out into the dark room. As matt turned on a light the woman with blonde hair and blue eyes held the knife higher she was ready to attack. As matt peeked around corner he called out her name one last time.

"Julie?" Suddenly the knife came down and blood splattered everywhere.

"Die you, Die!" she grunted with fierce meaning. As she kept slashing away like some mad murderer matt suddenly said in a concerned and scared voice.

"Umm…Julie I think the beef joint is already dead!" she gasped and said.

"Hi matt! I didn't hear you come in. you scared me a bit."

"Only a bit? Damn! This means I got to try harder doesn't" he said in a joking way.

"Yeah, yeah!." She replied "keep it up and I'll give you an extra helping of Brussel sprouts for dinner." She said threaten matt in a kind way. Matt shuddered of the thought of those ghastly tasting vegetables apart from those matt liked everything else.

"Not Brussel sprouts" said matt in disgust. "They are nothing but compressed air in a vegetable. Its like that English comedian lee Evans said it's like swallowing a grenade." Later at dinner matt looked at the spread on the table he didn't know what to try first it was either the beef joint and mash or lasagne it all looked so good.

"Well eat up before your concert tonight." She said to matt reminding him of the time. But matt suddenly didn't feel like eating. "I was only joking about the Brussel sprouts." Said Julie. Matt was a bit put off by this thing called haggis.

"Erm Julie" asked matt finally speaking as Julie looked at him she answered.

"What is it matt?" matt was going to ask how she feels about his dad because for a while now his dad was acting strange around her like he was going to do something for her. Something big. But he couldn't bring himself to it so instead he asked her.

"What's haggis?"

"Its sheep's stomach with pig intestines." Matt felt a bit sick after hearing what haggis was. "To tell you the truth I never liked haggis myself and my aunt was Scottish… how awkward would that be if we met her now." As the evening went on Julie started talking about her day.

"I met this amazing guy down at the market today" she said to matt. "But you know what… he was already married. That's the problem everywhere you go, no matter where you go every good looking man is either gay or married… apart from you and you're too young." She said explaining about her love life. As she looked at matt she saw that his plate was still clean from when she got it out of the dishwasher. "Oh, come matt have something!" as matt looked he then looked next to Julie where his dad normally sits. As he looked down again he said in a low sad tone.

"He's not coming is he"

"Of course he is. He's probably just delayed at the airport." She said to cheer matt up.

"No he would've rung" said matt as he looked at the phone. " I bet he got off the plane ran into his boss and gave him tickets to Hong Kong"

"You know his work matters to him."

"Yeah. It matters a lot he always put his job before me"

"You know that's not true matt." Said Julie trying to calm him down.

"Yeah I've had that before. That's when he said he'd be back before my 13th birthday and he didn't come back to your 30th … and your's is in august mine was in March." And with that matt stormed off grabbed his guitar and marched right out the front door before Julie could even say a word. She tried to convince herself that matt was just blowing off a little steam but deep down she knew he was right. Later at the main arena where matt was playing tonight the guys were looking at their watches wondering where matt was.

"I know he's the lead singer and main bass guitarist but if he doesn't come I'll take over." Said a boy with spiky red hair and a black and white jacket saying ' do you see a difference?'

"No William we chose matt to be the lead singer because of your asthma and the rest of us can't sing!" said a boy with black hair and brown eyes wearing a green t-shirt saying ' BEACH BUNNIES FOR ALL!' "And take off those sunglasses its night time you'll won't be able to see where your hitting the drums." As William took his glasses off he could someone walking in the door with his green eyes.

"Well…well…well if it isn't his royal majesty arriving late as usual."

"Hey I'm here aren't I?" said matt still ticked.

"This is our biggest concert were playing tonight and you just come in like its rehearsals…how do you stay so calm" asked William who was getting in a tizzy.

"Well for starters you need to do something really impossible…"

"What do I have to do?"

"Shut that mouth of yours and relax?" said matt as he walked off to stand on stage. Meanwhile in the crowds two people in the front row wearing black suits stood there waiting for matt to appear suddenly a loud booming voice was heard it was announcer announcing the next band.

"And now put your hands together for…The teenage wolves!" as the spot lights hit the stage the crowd roared with anticipation. As matt turned to the guys he asked them "you ready?" they nodded. As they turned back to face the stage they were ready to play a new song they've been practicing all week that seemed to fit every teenager. As matt looked down at the front row he could see two people in black suits he knew how they were… they were Madison's body guards come to film his concert so his dad could see it when he does get back.

"Hello everyone you having a good time!" asked matt the crowd screamed to show they were. "I can't hear you!" Matt pretended he couldn't hear. So the crowd screamed again. "Okay tonight we're going to play something a little different this something about a teenagers everyday life it's called Crawling in the dark!" as the band readied their instruments matt counted them in " a one a two and a one two three four." As they played the beginning bars to the song the men in black pressed record on the video camera

"I will dedicate" matt started singing "And sacrifice my everything for just a second's worth Of how my story's ending And I wish I could know if the directions that I take And all the choices that I make won't end up all for nothing. Show me what it's for Make me understand it I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer. Is there something more than what I've been handed? I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer. Help me carry on Assure me it's ok to use my heart and not my eyes to navigate the darkness Will the ending be ever coming suddenly? Will I ever get to see the ending to my story? Show me what it's for  
Make me understand it I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer Is there something more than what I've been handed? I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer." As matt played a few bars on his guitar he suddenly came back singing. "So when and how will I know? How much further do I have to go? How much longer until I finally know? Because I'm looking and I just can't see what's in front of me In front of me. Show me what it's for Make me understand it. I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer  
Is there something more than what I've been handed? I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer."

As matt finished the crowd went wild "thank you… thank you I hope you enjoyed tonight!" as matt pedalled back home he can't believe how many girls numbers he got just by signing a few autographs but as always matt just threw those away… okay maybe he kept one or two but his heart yearned for one girl and one girl only…Sakura Avalon. It was just something about her that made matt secretly loving her but he would never tell…not enough courage. It was about two in the morning before matt finally got home as matt opened the front t door he forgot why he stormed off his dad never put anything above him or Julie. As he got to his bed the final thought before he went to sleep was.

"I tried to tell her dad… I really tried… looks like you've got to do it yourself because you can do anything."


	3. Voices at a funeral

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 3: Voices at a Funeral **

When the doorbell things at three in the morning, it's never good news. Matt was woken up by the first chime. His eyes flickered open but for a moment he stayed completely still in his bed, lying on his back with his head resting on the pillow. He heard a bedroom door open and a creak of wood as Julie went downstairs. The bell rang a second time and he looked at the alarm clock glowing beside him. 3:04 a.m. there was a rattle as Julie slid the security chain off the front door. He rolled out of bed and walked over to the open window, his bare feet pressing down the carpet pile. The moonlight spilled on to his chest and shoulders. Matt had just turned fourteen, already well built, with the body of an athlete. His hair, cut short apart from two thick strands hanging over his forehead, most of it behind him was spiked up, he liked the style ever since he was a kid. His eyes were light blue and serious. For a moment he stood silently, half hidden in shadow, looking out. There was a police car parked outside, if this was about that riot that happened last week he had nothing to do with it. From his second floor window matt could see the black ID number on the roof of and the caps of the two men who were standing in front of the door. The porch light went on and, at the same time, the door opened.

"Mrs. Ishida?"

"No, I'm the house keeper. What is it? What's happened?"

"This is the home of Mr. Mahon Ishida?"

"Yes."

"I wonder if we could come in…"

And matt already knew. He knew from the way the police stood there, awkward and unhappy. But he also knew from the tone of voices. Funeral voices…that was how he would describe them later. The sort of voices people use when they come to tell you that somebody close to you has died. He went to his door and opened it. He could hear the two policemen talking down in the hall, but only some of the words reached him.

"…a car accident…called the ambulance…intensive care…nothing anyone could do…so sorry." It was only hours after the police had been, that matt sat alone in the kitchen, watching the grey light of the morning as it bled slowly through the Tomoeda streets, that matt could try to make sense of what had happened. His dad- Mahon Ishida – his only family left he knew- was dead. Driving to the airport, his car had been hit by a lorry quickly reversing out and didn't react quickly enough and he had been killed instantly. He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt, the police said. Otherwise, he might have had a chance. That part of the statement confused matt the most, why did the police say that matt knew his father…didn't he? When matt thought of the statement he also thought about something else. Did he ever knew his dad, matt resented him for a number of years after the divorce between him and his mother. That was why matt never saw so much of TK but then transferring to a new city where Tai had also moved to was almost like a punishment. It was only then matt realized just how little he knew about his dad.

A TV reporter. People said matt looked a lot like him. Mahon Ishida was always traveling. A quiet, private man who liked good saké, classical musical and puts up with matt's practicing of the guitar and occasionally a good book as well. Who didn't seem to have any girl friends, even after the divorce… in fact he didn't seem to have many friends. He had kept to himself fit, gave up smoking a long time ago and had dressed himself expensively. But that wasn't enough. That wasn't a picture of life. It was nothing more than thumbnail sketch.

"Are you all right, matt?" Julie asked him. Her hair was a sprawl of red hair and locks. Julie Landers was originally from England. She had come to Tomoeda seven years ago as a student, and lived in the dorms of a university before she had to look for another place to live. When she Saw An ad in a local shop window requesting an housekeeper in the area for a single man and a twelve year old- in return for light housework and baby sitting duties- and had stayed on to become a housekeeper and one of matt's closet friends. Matt always wondered why someone like Julie came all the way from England just to study out here. He remembered he asked her one time but didn't get an answer. Matt nodded. "What do you think will happen?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"To the house. To me. To you."

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I guess your dad would have left a will. Maybe leaving instructions."

"Maybe we should look in his office."

"Yes. But not today, matt. Let's take it one step at a time." His dad's office was running the full length of the house, high up at the top. It was the only room in the house that was locked; it was just like that before they moved when they lived in that old flat of theirs. His dad's room was the only one that was ever locked. Matt had only been in there three or four times, but never on his own. When he was younger, he had fantasized that there might be something strange up there; a time machine perhaps or maybe it was a secret stash of spy weapons. But it was only an office with a desk, a couple of filing cabinets, shelves, full of papers and books. Financial reports- that what he's dad said. Even so, Matt wanted to go up there now. Because it had never been allowed.

"The police said he wasn't wearing his seatbelt." Matt turned to look at Julie. She nodded. "Yes. That's what the policemen said."

"Doesn't that seem strange to you? You know how careful he was. He always wore his seat belt. He wouldn't even start the car until we had our seatbelt on to even drive around the corner." Julie thought about it, then shrugged.

"Yeah it's strange," she said "But that must have been the way it was. Why would the police lie about it?" matt didn't know, but he could tell the day was going to be long.

The day dragged on. Matt hadn't gone to school even though, secretly he wanted to. He would have preferred to escape back into normal life. The clang of the bell, the crowds of familiar faces, he even wanted to see Tai's face- instead of sitting there, trapped inside the house all day long. But he had to be there for the visitors who came throughout the morning and the rest of the afternoon. There were five of them. A solicitor who knew nothing about a will, but seemed to have been charged with organizing the funeral. A funeral director had been recommended by the solicitor. A priest- tall, elderly dressed all in white looked disappointed at matt because he didn't look more upset. A neighbor who knew matt and his dad when they first moved to Tomoeda came over to show her deepest sympathies to him- how did she knew that anyone had died? And finally a man from the TV station.

"All of us at Fuji TV Network are deeply shocked." He said. He was in his thirties, wearing a Polyester suit with a Brooks Brothers tie. He had the sort of face you forgotten even where you were looking at it, and had introduced himself as Jirou Tomitake, from personnel. "But if there's anything we can do..."

"What will happen?" matt asked the second time that day.

"You don't have to worry," Jirou Tomitake said. "We will take care of everything. That's my job. You leave everything to me."

The day passed. Matt killed a couple of hours in the evening playing his X box on his own –and then felt vaguely guilty when Julie caught and at it. But what else was he to do? Later on she took him to burger King. He was glad to get out of the house, but the two of them barely spoke. Matt assumed Julie would have to go back to England. She certainly couldn't Stay In Tomoeda forever. So who would look after him? By law, he was still too young to look after himself. His whole future looked so uncertain that preferred not to talk about it. He preferred not to talk at all. And then the day of the funeral arrived and Matt found himself dressed in a dark jacket, preparing to leave it in a black car that came from nowhere, surrounded by people he had never met. Mahon Ishida was buried in the Tomoeda cemetery. Matt thought to himself "_why am I here? All these people are here to see the man they knew, yet I hardly know him and he was my dad._" As his eyes looked around he saw about thirty people had turned up but he hardly recognized any of them. A grave had been dug up close to the lane that ran the length of the Cemetery and as the service began, a black Toyota Crown drew up, the black door opened and a man stepped out. Matt watched him as he Walked forward and stopped. Overhead, a plane coming into land at Tomoeda had momentarily blotted out the sun. Matt shivered. It was something about the new arrival that made his skin crawl. And yet the man was ordinary to look at. Grey suit, grey hair, grey lips and grey eyes. His face was expressionless, the eyes behind the square, gunmetal spectacles completely empty. Perhaps that was what disturbed Matt. Whoever this man was, he seemed to have less life than anyone in the cemetery. Above or below ground. Someone had tapped Matt on the shoulder and he turned round to see Mr. Jirou Tomitake leaning over him.

"That's Mr. Ooishi." The personnel manager whispered "He's the chairman for the Fuji TV network." Matt's eyes travelled past Ooishi and over to the Toyota crown. Two more men had come with him, one of them the driver. They will wearing identical suits and, although it wasn't a practically bright day, sun glasses. Both of them were watching the funeral with the same grim faces. Matt looked from them to Ooishi and then to the other people would come to the cemetery. Had they really known Mahon Ishida? Why had he never met any of them before? And why did he find it so difficult to believe any of them really Worked for a TV station?

"… A good man, a patriotic man. He will be missed." The priest had finished his graveside address. His choice of words struck Matt as odd. Patriotic? That meant he loved his country. But as far as Matt knew, Mahon ishida had barley spent any time in it. Certainly he had never been one for waving the flag. He looked around, hoping to find Julie, but saw instead that Ooishi was making his way towards them, stepping carefully around the grave.

"You must be Matt." The chairman was only a little taller than him. Close to, his skin was strangely unreal. He could have been made of plastic. "My name is Korindo Ooishi," he said. "Your father often spoke of you."

"That's Funny," Matt said. "He never mentioned you."

The grey lips twitched briefly. "We'll miss him. He was a good man."

"What was he good at?" Matt asked "he never talked about his work."

Suddenly Tomitake was there. "Your father was our overseas finance reporter, Matt," he said. "He was responsible for our foreign currencies. You must have known that?"

"I know he travelled a lot," Matt said. "and I know he was very careful. About things like seat belts."

"Well, sadly he wasn't careful not." Ooishi's eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his spectacles, lasered into his Own And for a moment matt felt himself pin down, making insect under the microscope. "I hope we'll meet again," Ooishi went on. He tapped the side of his face with a single grey finger. "Yes..." Then he turned and went back to his car.

It was as he was getting into the black Toyota crown that it happened. The driver leaned across to open the back door and his jacket fell open, revealing the shirt underneath. And not just the shirt. The man was wearing a leather holster with an automatic pistol strapped inside. Matt saw it even as the man, realizing what had happened, quickly straighten up and pulled the jacket across his chest. Ooishi had seen it too. He turned back and looked up again at Matt. Something very close to the motions slithered over his face. Then he got into the car, the door closed and he was gone.

I've done and a funeral. Why? Why would reporters from the television network even have a gun to Begin with?

"Let's get out of here." Suddenly Julie was at his side "Cemeteries give me the creeps."

"Yes. And quite a few creeps have turned up," Matt muttered.

They slipped away quietly and went home. The car that had taken them to the funeral was still waiting, but they preferred the open air. The walk took them fifteen minutes. As they turned the corner into this street, Matt noticed a removals van parked in front of the house, the words HYUNDAI & SON painted on its side.

"What's that doing...?" He began. At the same moment, the van shot off, its wheels skidding over the surface of the road. Matt said nothing as Julie unlocked the door and let them in, but while she went into the kitchen to make some tea, he looked quickly around the house. A letter that had been on the floor table now lay on the carpet. And a door that had been half open was now closed. Tiny details, but Matt's eyes missed nothing. Somebody had been in the house. He was always almost sure of it. But he wasn't certain until he got to the top floor. The door to the office which had always, always been locked, was not now. Met opened it and went in. The room was empty. Mahon Ishida had gone and so had everything else. The desk drawers, the cupboards, the shelves... Anything that might have told them about the dead man's work had been taken.

"Matt...!" Julie was calling to him from downstairs. That took one last look around the forbidden, wondering again about the man who had once worked there. As he turned round to walk out the door for the last time he noticed a little purple box on the ground that the removal men forgot to take away. He bent down to pick it up as he picked it up Julie came upstairs. Matt saw this box a couple of times before, but every time he saw it in his father's hand his father would act very strangely. As Matt opened it he was shocked to find what was inside, it was a small gold engagement ring. Above ring in the small upper compartment it read "_To my darling Julie, love from Mahon Ishida._" Matt couldn't believe it, if his dad was still alive then the Saturday after he got back he was going to propose to Julie. Julie stood in the doorway she couldn't believe her eyes, she was nearly a bride to a man so sweet, and to a son so talented. She couldn't help but cry, Matt cried a little.

"He did care, he wanted me to have a mother and he wanted to make Julie happy too." As he clenched his fist tightly he whispered as more tears fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry dad, I'm so sorry."


	4. Carnage

**Agent Matt **

**Chapter 4: car-nage**

With Redington Bridge just ahead of him, Matt left the river and swung his bike through the lights and down towards Redington high. The bike was a falcon XC road racer, custom built for him on his 12th birthday. It was a teenager's bike with a cut down regress 646 frame, but the wheels were fully sized so he could ride at speed with hardly any rolling resistance. He spun past a Toyota and cut through the school gates. He would be sorry when he grew out of the bike. For two now it had almost been part of him.

He double locked it in the shed and went into the yard. Redington high was identical to the elementary school with its white walls, large courtyards, and wide glass doors at the main entrance. Unlike the elementary school it was more modern and ugly. Matt could have gone to any of the smart private schools around Tomoeda, but Matt's dad had decided to send him here. He had said it would be more of a challenge. The first lesson of the day was maths. When matt came into the classroom, the teacher, Mr. Dunleavy, was already chalking up a complicated equation on the board. It was halting the room, the sunlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows in by architects who should have known better. As Matt took his place near the back as usual, he wondered how he was going to get through the lesson. How could he possibly think about algebra when there were so many other questions churning through his mind? The gun at the funeral, the way Ooishi had looked at him, the van with HYUNDAI & SON written on the side, the empty office, the small purple box, and the biggest question of all, the one detail that refused to go away. The seat belt. Mahon Ishida hadn't been wearing a seat belt. But of course he had. Mahon Ishida had never been one to give lectures. He had always said Matt should make up his own mind about things. But he'd had this thing about seat belts. The more Matt thought about it, the less he believed it. A collision with another driver at the traffic lights. Suddenly he wished he could see the car. At least the wreckage will tell him that the accident had really happened, that Mahon Ishida really had died in that way.

"Matt?" Matt looked up and realized that everyone was staring at him. Mr. Dunleavy had just asked him something. He quickly scanned the blackboard, taking in the figures. "Yes, sir," he said, X equals -7 and Y is 15." The maths teacher sighed. "Yes, Matt. You're absolutely right. But actually I was just asking you to open the window." Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the day, but by the time the final bell rang, his mind was made up. While everyone streamed out, he made his way to the secretary's office and borrowed a copy of Japan Yellow Pages.

"What are you looking for?" The Secretary asked. Jackie bridle was a young woman in her twenties, and she always had a soft spot for Matt.

"Breakers' yards..." Matt flicked through the pages. "If a car got smashed up overseas, they'd take it somewhere nearby, wouldn't be?"

"I suppose so."

"Here..." Matt had found the yard's listed under "Car Dismantlers". But there were dozens of them fighting for attention over four pages.

"Is this for a school project?" The Secretary asked. She knew Matt had lost his father, but not how.

"Sort of..." Matt was reading the addresses, but they told him nothing.

"This one's quite near us." Mrs. Bridle pointed at the corner of the page.

"Wait!" Matt tugged the book towards him and looked at the entry underneath the one the Secretary had chosen: J.P. HYUNDAI, We take the car out of carnage... J.P. Hyundai, scrap dealers Himonton road, TOMOEDA. just below was the telephone number and then written in italics call us today. the secratry looked at the ad and said to matt.

"That's in vilando," Miss Bridle said. "Not too far from here."

"I know." But Matt had recognized the name. J. P. Hyundai. He fought back to the van he had seen outside his house on the day of the funeral. HYUNDAI & SON. Of course might just be coincidence, but it was still some way to start. He closed the book. "I'll see you, Miss Bridle." "Be careful how you go." The Secretary watched Matt leave, wondering why she had said that. Maybe it was his eyes. Once filled with light, now became dark and serious, there was something dangerous there. Then the telephone rang and she forgot him as she went back to work. As Matt ran across the courtyard his feet pounded as they raced towards the bike shed. His fingers fumbled with the lock it's like his mind went blank as he tried to remember the combination he put in early. Finally the lock was off and he was off on his bike, sweat was already beginning to stream down his face. Suddenly outside the gates he saw Madison. As he pulled back on the brakes he quickly set to Madison.

"Hey Madison, you OK?" Madison was a sweet and happy girl. She had sparkling blue eyes and long wavy black hair; she was always someone to talk to no matter what it was. She turned around and she smiled.

"Hey Matt," she said kindly "Yeah I'm great, but what about you?" Matt smiled back.

"I'm just fine; I wanted to thank you for the other day."

"No problem."

"It's sweet of you, but I think you should keep the video. My dad won't be able of to see it now." Madison looked confused, what video was Matt talking about? But before Madison could answer Matt saw the very van that he was looking for, he pedalled after it as fast as he could. As Madison watched Matt pedalled off in a cloud of dust she said slightly confused about the conversation she just had. "But I didn't film your concert." Matt followed the van through the traffic, narrowly avoiding oncoming cars. As he stood back a fair amount of distance he scanned the area. J. P. Hyundai's was a square of wasteland behind some abandoned warehouses just outside Tomoeda port. The area was enclosed by a high brick wall topped with broken glass and razor wire. Two metal gates made from an old tin roof hung open, and from the other side of the road Matt could see an old booth with a security window and beyond it a tall tower of dead and broken cars. Anything of any value had been stripped away and left only the rusting carcasses, had one on top of the other, waiting to be fed into the beast called the crusher. There was a guard sitting in the booth, reading _daily Tomoeda._ In the distance, a crane coughed into life, then roared down on a battered Mitsubishi Pajero, its metal claw smashing through the window to scoop up the vehicle and carry it away. A telephone rang somewhere in the booth and the guard turned round to answer it. That was enough for Matt. Holding his bike and Wheeling it along beside him, he sprinted through the gates. He found himself surrounded by dirt and debris. The smell of diesel was thick in the air and the roar of the engines was deafening. Matt watched as the crane swooped down on another of the cars, seized it in a metallic grip dropped it into the crusher. For a moment the car rested on a pair of shelves. Then the shelves lifted up, toppling the car over and down into A trough. The operator – sitting in a glass cabin at one end of the crusher – pressed a button and there was a great belch of black smoke. The shelves closed in on the car like a monster insect folding its wings. There was a grinding sound as the car was crushed into there was no bigger than a rolled up carpet. Then the operator threw a gear and the car was squeezed out, metallic toothpaste being chopped up by a hidden blade. The slices tumbled on to the ground. From what Matt saw the crusher was a big monster that was ugly to look at and had a giant mouth. It's only desire and purpose to be in the scrap yard was to eat, a hungry beast wanting more. Leaving his bike propped against the wall, Matt ran further into the yard, crouching down behind the wrecks. With the din from the machines, there was no chance that anyone would hear him, but he was still afraid of being seen. He stopped to catch his breath, during a grimy hand across his face. His eyes were watering from the diesel fumes. The air was as filthy as the ground beneath. He was beginning to regret coming –but then he saw it. His father's Toyota Camry was parked a few metres away, separated from the other cars. At first glance it looked absolutely fine, the metallic silver bodywork not even scratched. Certainly there was no way this car could have been involved in a fatal collision with a lorry or anything else for that matter. But it was his father's car. Matt recognized the number plate. He hurried closer, and it was then he saw that the car was damaged after all. The windscreen had been smashed, along with all the windows on one side. Matt made his way around the bonnet. He reached the other side. And froze in shock. Mahon Ishida hadn't died in any accident. What had killed him was plain to see –even to someone who had never seen such a thing before. A spray of bullets had caught the car fall on the driver's side, shattering the front tyre, then smashing the windscreen and side windows and punching into the side panels. Matt ran his fingers over the holes. The metal felt cold against his flesh. He opened the door and looked inside to see what he could find. The front seats, pale grey leather, was strewn with fragments of broken glass and stained with patches of blood. He didn't dare to imagine where the blood had a spilled from. He could see everything. The flash of the machine gun, the bullets ripping into the car, Mahon Ishida screams of pain and anguish as the bullets ripped through his flesh, like scissors through paper. His lifeless body then sliding down the seats and blood slowly dripping from the bullet wounds on to the leather... But why? What would they accomplish a financial reporter? And why had the murder been covered up? It was the police that brought the news, so they must be part of it. Had they deliberately lied? None of it made sense.

"You should have got rid of it two days ago, do it now!" The machines must have stopped for a moment. If there hadn't been a sudden lull, Matt would never heard the men coming. Quickly he looked across the steering wheel and looked out the other side. There were two of them, both dressed in loose fitting overalls. Matt had a feeling he had seen them before. At the funeral. One of them was the driver, the man he had seen with the gun. He was sure of it. Whoever they were, they were only a few paces away from the car, talking in soft voices. Another few steps and they would be there. Without thinking, Matt threw himself into the only hiding place available, inside the car itself. Using his right foot, he hooked the door and closed it. At the same time, he became aware that the machines have started again and he could no longer hear the men. He didn't dare look up. A shadow of the two men that form to become one blob as they passed the window. But then they were gone. He was safe at last... Or at least he thought he was. Suddenly something hit the Toyota with such force that Matt cried out, his whole body caught in a massive shock wave that tore him away from the steering wheel and threw him helplessly into the back. At the same time, the roof buckled and three huge rusty metal fingers tore through the skin of the car like a knife through butter, trailing dust and sunlight. One of the fingers grazed the side of his head –any closer and it would have cracked his skull. Matt yelled as blood trickled over his eye. He tried to move, then was jerked back a second time as the car was hoisted into the air and flew helplessly towards the crusher. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. But his stomach lurched as the car swung in an arc, the metal crumpling and the light spinning. It had been picked up by the crane. It was going to be put inside the crusher... With him inside. He tried to raise himself up, to punch through the windows. But the Claw had already flattened the roof, pinning his right leg, perhaps even breaking it. He could feel nothing. He lifted a hand and managed to pound on the back window, but he couldn't break the glass, even if the workmen was staring at the Toyota, they would never see anything moving inside. His short flight across the breaker's yard ended with a bone shattering smash as the crane dropped the car on the iron lips of the crusher. Matt tried to fight back his sickness and despair and started to think of a way to escape the iron beast. He had seen a car being processed only a few minutes before. Any moment now, the operator would send the car tipping into the coffin shaped trough. The machine was a sobaku, a slow motion guillotine. At the press of a button, the two wings would close on the car with a joint pressure of 500 tonnes. The car, with Matt inside it, would be crushed beyond recognition. And the broken metal –and flesh –would then be chopped into sections. Nobody would ever know what had happened until the blood oozed out of the crushed cubes. He had tried with all his strength to break himself free. But the roof was too low. His leg and part of his back were trapped in the mesh of the leather seats. Then his whole world tilted and he felt himself falling into darkness. The iron mouth had opened. The Toyota slid to one side and fell the few metres into the trough. Matt felt the metalwork collapsing all around him. The back window exploded and a glass showered down on him, dust and diesel fumes were punching into his nose and eyes. There was hardly any daylight now, but looking out of the back he could see the huge steel head of the hydraulic piston that would push what was left of the car through the exit hole on the other side. The engine tone of the sobaku changed as it prepared for the final act. The metal wings shuddered. In a few seconds time, the two of them would meet, crumpling the Toyota like a paper bag. Matt pulled with all his strength and was astonished when his leg came free. It took him perhaps a second, one precious second, to work out what had happened. When the car had fallen into the trough it had landed on its side. The roof had buckled again... Enough to free him at least. His hand scrambled for the door, of course that was useless. The doors were too bent now. They would never open. The back window! He thought as he saw a small ray of light shining through. With the glass gone, he could crawl through the frame, but only if he moved fast enough... He didn't have much time, the wings began to move. The Toyota screamed as two walls of solid steel relentlessly crushed it. Glass shattered all around him. One of the wheel axles snapped with the sound of a thunder bolt. The darkness began to close in. Matt grabbed hold of what was left of the back seat. Ahead of him he could see a small triangle of light, shrinking faster and faster. With all his strength, he surged forward, finding some sort of purchase on the gear column. He could feel the weight of the two walls pressing down on him. Behind him the car was no longer the car, but the first of some hideous monster snatching at the insect that he had become. His shoulders passed through the triangle, out into the light. But his legs were still inside. If his foot snagged on something he would be squeezed into two pieces. Matt yelled out loud and jerked his knee forward. His legs came clear, then his feet, but at the last moment his shoe caught on the closing triangle and disappeared back into the car. Matt imagined he heard the sound of the leather being squashed, but that was impossible. As he clinged to the black, oily surface of the observation platform at the back of the crusher he dragged himself clear and managed to stand up. He found himself face to face with a man so fat that he could barely fit into the small cabin of the crusher. The man's stomach was pressed against the glass, his shoulders squeezed into the corners. A cigarette dangled on his lower lip as his mouth fell open and his eyes stared at Matt. He couldn't believe what he had saw, in front of him was a boy in the rags of what was once a school uniform. The sleeves had been torn off and his arm, streaked with blood and oil, hung limply by his side. By the time the operator had taken all this in, come to his senses and turned the machine off, Matt had disappeared. He clambered down the side of the crusher landing on the one foot that still had a shoe on. He was aware now of pieces of jagged metal lying everywhere. If he wasn't careful he would cut the other foot open. His bicycle was where he had left it, leaning against the wall, and gingerly, half hopping, he made for the exit. Behind him he had the cabin of the crusher open and a man's voice called out, raising the alarm. At the same time, a second man ran forward, stopping between Matt and his bike. It was the driver, the man he had seen at the funeral his face, twisted into a hostile frown, was curiously ugly; greasy hair, watery eyes, pale, dry, lifeless skin.

"What do you think...!" He began. His hand slipped into the leather jacket. Matt remembered the gun and instantly, without thinking, swung into action. He had started learning karate when he was six years old. One afternoon, with no explanation, Mahon Ishida had taken him to a local club for his first lesson and had been going there, once a week, ever since. Over the years Matt had passed for of the various _kyu_ –student – grades. But it was only last year that he had become a first grade _Dan_, a black belt. When he had arrived at Tomoeda Elementary, his looks and accent had quickly brought him to the attention of the school bullies; three hulking eleven year Olds that looked sixteen. They had cornered him once behind the bike shed. The encounter had lasted less than a minute, and after it one of the bullies had left Tomoeda elementary and the other two had never troubled anyone again. Coincidently that was the same day he first met... Sakura! She was hiding around the corner, waiting for the teacher to come but was afraid that Matt might get hurt. As Matt brought on one leg, he twisted his body round and lashed out. The back kick – _Ushiro geri-_is said to be the mostly lethal in karate. His foot pounded into the man's abdomen with such force that he didn't even time to cry out. His eyes bulged out and began to fill with water and his mouth hung half open in surprise. Then, with his hand still halfway into his jacket pocket, he crumpled to the ground. Matt jumped over him, snatched up his bike and swung himself on to it. In the distance, a third man was running towards him darting in and out of the rusted wreckage's. He heard a single word "Stop!" Called out. Then there was a crack a bullet whipped past him, missing him by a few hairs. Matt gripped the handle bars and pedalled as hard as he could. The bike shot forward, over the rusty rubble and out through the gates. He took one look over his right shoulder. Nobody was following him, questions started to form in his mind. The bullet holes? The men at the scrap yard? And the blood stained leather seats? It just didn't make sense, he wanted some answers... but who would give them to him? With one shoe on and one shoe off, his clothes in rags and his body streaked with blood and oil, Matt knew he must look a strange sight. But then he thought back to his last seconds inside the crusher and sighed with relief. He could have been looking a lot worse. As he got home, he quietly sneaked his bike into the back garden and locked it in the big brown, wooden, shed. He then decided to be extra quiet and sneak through the back door, as he pulled down the silver handle to the French style door the hinges squeaked and Matt Winced, surely Julie heard that. As he tip-toed in he thought he was clear, if he could just get to his room he would be in the clear. But just as he got to the bottom of the stairs a voice from the living room called out to him, it was Julie.

"Your home late..." Before Matt could reply Julie was in shock when she saw Matt's clothes and body as she came out of the living room. She nearly dropped to her cup, "What happened to you?" She asked, worriedly about the blood and oil streaking down his arms.

"I got into a bit of trouble; you could say it was almost... Car-nage." He said with a smile.


	5. The Fuji TV Network

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 5: The ****Fuji TV ****Network**

It was early morning when the phone rang.

"This is Jirou Tomitake, do you remember me? Personal manager at the Fuji TV network. We were wondering if you could come in."

"Come in?" Man was half dressed, already late for school, his arms still wrapped up in bandages from the other day.

"This afternoon. We found some papers of your father's. We need to talk to you... About your own position." Matt wasn't sure but he thought he could sense something faintly threatening in the man's voice.

"What time this afternoon?" Matt asked.

"Could you manage half past four? We're on Orotaki Street. We can send you a taxi –"

"I'll be there," Matt said "And I'll take the subway." He then slammed the phone down and walked upstairs to get dressed and ready for school. He was halfway up the stairs when Julie came out the kitchen and asked.

"Who was that?" She was cooking breakfast for the two of them, although how long she could remain with Matt was a growing worry. Her wages hadn't been paid, she had only her own money to buy food and Pay for the running of the house. Worse still, her visa was about to expire. Soon she would be deported back to England.

"That was the network." Matt looked over the banister, wearing his spare uniform. He hadn't told her what had happened at the scrap yard, because he didn't know how to explain it. Julie had enough on her mind as it is. He didn't want her to worry even more. "I'm going there this afternoon," he said.

"Do you want me to come?"

"No. I'll be fine."

He came out of tomogaoka station just after four – fifteen that afternoon, still wearing his school uniform: dark green jacket, grey trousers, white shirt and brown shoes. He found the TV station easily enough. He had been there several times when he was a kid. It was large rectangular building that had columns going up each side, it looked like one of the games where you tried to remove a column without the whole thing tipping over. In the centre at the very top, a large sphere connected by several columns stood towering above him. It was modern and ugly, just like it always had been, matt swore he'd never work in a place like this. The Flag of Japan flew in the gentle wind fifteen floors above him of the and had been. There was a Brass nameplate next to the main door and a security camera swivelled slowly as it followed Matt along the pavement. Matt stopped in front of it. For a moment he wondered if he was making a mistake going in. If the TV station had been responsible in some way for Mahon Ishida's death, maybe they had asked him here to arrange his own. No. The station wouldn't kill him. He didn't even works there. He went in. In An office on the 17th floor, the image on the security monitor flickered and changed as street camera one smoothly cut across to reception cameras two and three and Matt passed through the brightness outside to the cool shadows of the interior. A man sitting behind a desk reached out and pressed a button and the camera zoomed in into Matt's face filled the screen.

"So he came," the chairman of the TV station muttered.

"That's the boy?" The speaker was a middle aged woman. Her head was strangely shaped, almost like a potato. Her black hair was long but it looked like it had been cut with a pair of blunt scissors and an upturned bowl. Her eyes were almost black too. She was dressed in a severe beige suit and she was sucking on a strawberry and cream sweet. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Ooishi?" She asked. Korindo Ooishi nodded.

"Oh yes. Quite sure. You know what to do?" This last question was addressed to his driver, who was standing uncomfortably, slightly hunched over. His face was a chalky white. He had been like that ever since he tried to stop Matt in the breakers yard. "Yes, sir," he said. "Then do it," Ooishi said. His eyes never left the screen, as he looked at Matt it was like he was already getting a mental picture of Matt and what he was capable of. In reception, Matt had asked for Jirou Tomitake and was sitting on the leather sofa, vaguely wondering why so few people were going in or out. The reception area was winding an airy, with a white marble floor, three elevators to one side and, above the desk, a row of clocks showing the different times in every major city around the world. But this could have been an entrance to anywhere. A hospital. A concert hall. Even a cruise liner. Or perhaps an entrance to a spaceship. The place had no identity of its own. All of a sudden one of the lifts pinged and Tomitake appeared in his usual suit, but with a different tie.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Matt." Matt stood up but said nothing, and allowing his uniform to answer the man's question. "Let's go to my office," Tomitake said. He gestured. "We'll take the lift." Matt didn't notice the fourth camera inside the lift, but then again it was concealed on the other side of the two way mirror that covered the entire black wall. Nor did he see the thermal intensifier next to the camera. But this second machine both looked at him and through him as he stood there, turning him into a pulsating mass of different colours, like a Picasso painting. None of which translated into the cold steel of a hidden gun or knife. In less than the time it took Matt to blink, the machine had passed its information down two a computer which had instantly evaluated it and then send its own signal back to the circuits that controlled the elevator. _It was Okay. He's clean. Continue to the 15__th__ floor._ "Here we are!" Tomitake smiled and ushered Matt into a long corridor with an uncarpeted wooden floor and modern lighting. A series of doors was punctuated by framed paintings, brightly coloured abstracts. "My office is just along here." Tomitake pointed the way. They had passed several doors until Matt stop. Each door had a nameplate and this one he recognized – 1309: Mahon Ishida. White letters on black plastic. Tomitake signed and nodded sadly. "Yes. This was where your father worked. He'll be much missed."

"Can I go inside?" Matt asked. Tomitake seemed surprised.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"I'd be interested to see where he worked."

"I'm sorry," Tomitake shook his head sadly. "The door will have been locked and I don't have the key. Another time perhaps." He gestured again. He used his hands like a magician, as if he was about to produce a fan of cards from his sleeve. "I have the office next door. Just in here." They went into 1310. It was a large, square room with three windows looking out over the courtyard. There was a flutter of red and white outside and Matt remembered the flag he had seen. The flag pole was right next to Tomitake's office. Inside there was a desk and a chair, two white leather sofas, in the corner a small white fridge, the walls were blank. A boring executive office. Perfect for a boring executive. "Please, Matt. Sit down," Tomitake said. He went over to the fridge. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Do you have any Soda?"

"Yes." Tomitake opened a can and filled a glass then handed it to Matt. "Ice?"

"No thanks." Matt took a sip. His face was nearly pulled in and the taste of the Soda. It wasn't Soda, it wasn't even Pepsi he recognized the over – Sweet, slightly cloying taste of all American cola and wished he asked for water instead. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"

"Your father's will –" the telephone rang and another hand sign, this one for "one moment please", Tomitake answered it. He spoke for a few moments then hung up again. "I'm very sorry, Matt. I have to go back down to reception. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead." Matt settled himself on the sofa.

"I'll be five minutes." With a final nod of apology, Tomitake left. Matt waited a few seconds. He then poured the sickly sweet soda into a potted plant and stood up. He went over to the door and opened it leading him back into the corridor. At the far end, a woman carrying a pile of papers appeared and disappeared through a door. There was still no sign of Tomitake. Quickly, Matt moved back to the door of 1309 and tried the handle. But Tomitake had been telling the truth. It was locked. Matt went back into Tomitake's office. He would have given anything to spend a few minutes alone in Mahon Ishida's office. Somebody thought the dead man's work was important enough to keep hidden from his own son. They had broken into his house and cleaned out everything they'd found in the office there. Perhaps the next door room might tell him why. What exactly had Mahon Ishida been involved in? And what was the reason why he had been killed? Matt looked out the window again and saw the flag fluttering again in the breeze that picked up into a wind, seeing it, Matt saw that the flag pole was exactly halfway between rooms 1309 and 1310. If he could somehow reach it, he should be able to jump on to the ledge that ran alongside of the building outside the room 1309. Of course, he was fifteen floors up. If he had jumped and missed it would be about seventy metres to fall. That was a stupid thought. It wasn't even worth thinking about. Matt opened the window and climbed out. It was better not to think about it at all. He would just do it. After all, if this had been the ground floor or a climbing frame in the schoolyard, it would have been child's play. It was only the sheer brick wall stretching down to the pavement, the cars and buses moving like toys so far below and the blast of the wind against his face that made it terrifying. Don't think about it... Just do it! Matt lowered himself on to the ledge outside Tomitake's office. His hands were behind him, clutching onto the window frame. He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes... And jumped. A camera located in an office across the road caught Matt as he launched himself into space. Two floors above, Korindo Ooishi was still sitting in front of the screen. He chuckled. It was a humourless sound.

"I' told you," he said "the boy's extraordinary."

"The boy's quite mad," the woman retorted.

"Well, maybe that's what we need."

"you're just going to sit here and watch him kill himself?" With his eyes focused on the screen, Ooishi said.

"I'm going to sit here and hope he survives." Matt realized he should have opened his eyes when he jumped, for he had miscalculated the jump. He had missed the flag pole by one centimetre and would have plunged straight down to the pavement if his hands hadn't caught hold of the Japanese flag itself. He was hanging down with his feet in mid air. Slowly, with huge effort, he started to pull himself up, his fingers hooking into the material... Then he heard a chilling sound, the flag was beginning to tear. Somehow he managed to climb back up onto the pole. He still didn't look down. He just hoped that no one on the ground would look up, for they would think he was a mad. It was easier after that. He wrapped his legs around the pole, then he threw himself across the ledge outside Mahon Ishida's office. He had to be careful. Too far to the left and his face would smash into the brick wall. Too far to the right and he would have plunged to his death. In fact he landed perfectly, grabbing hold of the ledge with both hands and then pulling himself up until he was level with the window. He just hoped that the chipped brick ledge wouldn't give away as he pulled himself up. It was only then that the thought of the window being locked as well occurred to him. If so, he'd just have to go back... It wasn't. Matt slid the window open and hoisted himself into the second office, which was in many ways a carbon copy of the first. It had the same furniture, the same carpet, even the same blank walls. He went over to the desk and sat down. The first thing he saw was an old photograph, this photograph held a special memory. This photograph was the only one that had his brother and mother in the same picture. This brought a tear to matt's eye, it seemed like an eternity ago that he last saw them both and now the only one alive was matt himself. He had never thought of Mahon Ishida as a sentimental man, Matt always thought he was a self close man. Matt glanced at his watch. It had been 3 minutes since Tomitake had left the office, and he had said he he'd be back in five. If he was going to find anything here, he had to find it quickly. He pulled open a drawer of the desk. It contained five or six thick files. Matt took them and opened them. He saw at once that they had nothing to do with financial reporting.

The first one was marked: NERVE TOXINS –NEW METHODS OF CONCEALMENT AND DISTRIBUTION. Matt put it aside and looked at the second one.

ASSASSINATIONS –FIVE CASE STUDIES. As Matt grew more puzzled, he quickly flicked through the rest of the files, these included; counter-terrorism, the movement of uranium across China and interrogation techniques. The last file was simply labelled.

V TECH. Matt was about to read it when the door suddenly opened and two men walked in. One of them was Tomitake. The other was the driver from the breakers yard. Matt knew there was no point trying to explain what he was doing. He was sitting behind a desk with the V tech file open in his hands. But at the same time he realized that the two men weren't surprised to see him there. From the way they had come into the room, they had expected to find him here.

"This isn't a TV Network," Matt said "who are you? What was my father working for you? Did you kill him?"

"So many questions," Tomitake muttered. "But I'm afraid we're not authorized to give you the answers." The other man lifted his hand them at saw that he was holding a gun. He stood up behind the desk, holding the file as if to protect himself.

"No, you can't do this I'm just a –" the man fired. There was no explosion. The gun spat at Matt and he felt something slam into his chest. His hand shook and the file fell out of his hand and tumbled to the floor. Then his legs buckled, the room twisted and he fell back into blackness, was the last of his remaining strength he muttered the final word. "– kid."

"You're no ordinary kid!" Tomitake's voice echoed. Matt closed his eyes... This was the end for him.


	6. Are you in?

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 6: "Are you in...?"**

Matt opened his eyes. So he was still alive! And it wasn't a dream, that was a nice surprise. He was lying on a bed in a large comfortable room. The bed was modern but the room was all, with beams running across the ceiling, a stone fireplace and narrow windows in oriented wooden frames. He had seen rooms like this in books when he was studying Shakespeare he was that the building was Elizabethan it had to be somewhere in the country. There was no sound of traffic. Outside he could see a row of trees. As he looked down he saw someone had undressed him. His school uniform was gone. And in its place he was wearing loose pyjamas, silk and the feel of them and unlike the outside he would have guessed it was early evening. He found his watch lying on the bedside on a chest of drawers, pine bedside drawers to match the wooden beams above. He reached out for it and looked at it. The time was twelve o' clock. It was half past four when he was shot with what must have been a drugged dart. He had lost a whole night and half a day. There was a bathroom leading off the bedroom; bright white tiles and a huge shower behind a cylinder of glass and chrome. Matt stripped off the pyjamas and stood for 5 minutes under a jet of streaming water. He felt much better after that. He went back into the bedroom and opened a cupboard. Someone had been to his house in Tomoeda. All began now owns his clothes were here, neatly hung up. He wondered what Tomitake had told Julie. Presumably he would have made up some story to explain his sudden disappearance. He took a pair of combat trousers, a sleeveless green shirt and black trainers, got dressed, then sat on the bed and waited for someone to come. About 15 minutes later there was a knock and the door opened. A young Chinese girl named Reine in a nurse's uniform came in, beaming.

"Oh, you're awake. And dressed. How are you feeling? Not too groggy, I hope. Please come this way. Mr. Ooishi is expecting you for lunch." Matt hadn't spoken a word to her. He followed her out of the room, along a corridor and down a flight of stairs. The house was indeed Elizabethan with wooden panels along the corridors, ornate chandeliers and oil painting of old, bearded men in tunics and ruffs. The stairs lead down into a tall, galleried room with a rug spread out over flagstones and a fireplace big enough to park a car in. A long, polished wooden table had been laid for three. Korindo Ooishi and a dark, and rather masculine woman unwrapping a sweet were already sitting down. Mrs. Ooishi perhaps?

"Matt." Ooishi smiled briefly, as it was something he didn't enjoy doing ."It's good of you to join us." Mat sat down.

"You didn't give me a lot of choice."

"Yes. I don't quite know what to Tomitake was thinking of shooting you like that, but I suppose it was the easiest way. May I introduce to you my colleague, Mrs. Jensen." The woman nodded a Matt. Her eyes seemed to examine him minutely, but she said nothing.

"Who are you?" Matt asked. "What do you want with me?"

"I'm sure you have a great amount of questions to ask. But first, let's eat." Ooishi must have pressed a hidden button, or he was overheard, for at that precise moment a door opened and a waiter in white jacket and black trousers appeared carrying three plates. "I hope you eat meat," Ooishi continued. "Today it's _Rôti de boeuf._"

"You mean, roast beef."

"The chef is French." Matt waited into the food has been served. Ooishi and Mrs. Jensen drank red wine. He stuck to water. Finally, Ooishi began. "As I'm sure you've gathered," he said, "The Fuji TV network is not a television network... In fact we don't exist... It's nothing more than a cover. And it follows, of course, that your father had nothing to do with financial reporting. He worked for me. My name, as I told you at the funeral, is Ooishi. I'm chief executive of the Special Operations Division of the Japanese Intelligence Network sector 7, or JIN 7 for short. And your father, for want of a better word, a spy." Matt couldn't help smiling.

"You mean like... Like James bond?"

"Similar, although we don't go in for numbers. Double 0 and all the rest of that. He was a field agent, highly trained and very courageous. He successfully completed assignments in Iran, England, Shanghai, and Cairo – to name but a few. I imagine this may come as a bit of a shock to you." Matt thought about the dead man, what he had known of him. His privacy. His long absences abroad. The way he handled himself when Myotismon and his evil digi minions attacked. And the times he'd come home injured. Bandaged arm one time, bruised face the next and a bleeding forehead. Little accidents, Matt had been told. But now it all made sense.

"I'm not shocked," he said. Ooishi cut a neat triangle in the slice of meat.

"Mahon Ishida 's luck ran out on his last mission," he went on "he had been working undercover in England, in Cornwall, and was driving back to London airport to give a report to our friends, MI6... Before he was killed. You saw his car at the yard."

"Hyundai & Son," Matt muttered. "Who are they?"

"Just people we use. We have budget restraints. We have to contract some of our work out. Mrs. Jensen here is our Head of Special Operations. She gave your father his last assignment."

"We're very sorry to have lost him, Matt." A woman spoke for the first time. She didn't sound very sorry at all.

"Do you know who killed him?"

"Yes."

"Are you're going to tell me?"

"No. Not now."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need to know. Not at this stage."

"All right." Matt put down his knife and fork and stared at them. He hadn't actually eaten anything. "My father was a spy. Thanks to you he's dead. I found out too much, so you knocked me out and brought me here. Where am I, by the way?"

"This is one of our training centres," Mrs. Jensen said

"You've brought me here because you don't want me to tell anyone what I know. Is that what this all about? Because if it is, I'll sign the official secrets act or whatever years you will need to do, but then I'd like to go home. This is all crazy anyway. And I've had enough. I'm out of here" Ooishi coughed quietly.

"It's not quite as easy as that," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's certainly true that you did draw attention to serve both at the breakers yard and then at our offices on Orotaki street. And is also true that what you know and what I'm about to tell you must go no further. But the fact of the matter is, Matt, we need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes." He paused "have you heard of a man called Darren warren." Matt thought for a moment.

"I've seen his name in the newspapers. He's got something to do with computers. And he owns racehorses. Doesn't he come from somewhere in Cairo?"

"No. From Tennessee." Ooishi took a sip of wine. "Let me tell you his story, Matt. I'm sure you're finding of interest... "Darren warren was born incomplete poverty in the backstreets of the DeKalb County. His father was a failed designer. His mother was a prostitute. He had nine brothers and four sisters, all living together in three small rooms along with the family horse. Young Darren never went to school and he should have ended up unemployed, unable to read or write, like the rest of his family. "But when he was seven, something extraordinary happened, something that would change his life. He was walking into town, when he happened to see an upright piano fall out of a fourteenth Storey window. Apparently it was being moved and somehow overturned. Anyway, there were a couple of Japanese tourists walking along the pavement below and they would both be crushed –no doubt about that –except that at the last minute Darren threw himself at them and push them out of the way. The piano missed them by one centimetre. "Of course, they were enormously grateful to the young waif, and it now turned out that they were very rich. They made enquiries about him and discovered how poor he was... The very clothes he was wearing had been passed down by all his nine brothers. And so, out of gratitude they more or less adopted him. Flew him out of Tennessee and put him into a school over here, where he made astonishing progress. He got nine O levels and –here's the kicker –at the age of fifteen years old he found himself sitting next to a boy who would become the Prime minister for Japan. Our current Prime minister, in fact. The two of them were at school together. "I'll move quickly forward. After school, Warren went to Tokyo University, where he had got a first in economics and computer programming. He then set out on a career that went from success to success. His own radio station, record label, Computer Software... And, yes, he even found time to buy a string of racehorses, although for some reason they always seemed to come last. But what drew him to our attention was his most recent invention. A quite revolutionary in computers and virtual reality which he calls virtual technology or V Tech for short." V Tech. Matt remembered the file he had found in Mahon Ishida's office. Things were beginning to come together.

"The V tech's are being manufactured by Warren Enterprises," Mrs. Jensen said. "There's been a lot of talk about the design. It has a black keyboard and a black casing –"

"With a lightning bolt going down through the V on side" Matt said. He had seen a picture of it in _PC_ _universe._

"It doesn't only look different," Ooishi cut in. "It's based on a completely new technology. He uses something called a diamond processor. I don't suppose that will mean anything to you."

"It's an integrated circuit on a sphere of silicone about one millimetre in diameter," Matt said. "Its ninety per cent cheaper to produce than an ordinary chip because the whole thing is sealed in so it doesn't need to have clean rooms for production."

"Oh. Yes..." Ooishi coughed. "Well The point is, later today, Warren Enterprises are going to make quite a remarkable announcement. They are planned to give away tens of thousands of these computers. In fact, it is their intention to ensure that every school in Japan gets its own V tech. It an unparalleled act of generosity, Warren's way of thanking the country that gave him a home."

"So the man's a hero."

"So it would seem. He wrote to the Prime minister a few months ago:

"_My dear friend Prime minister_

_You may remember me from our schooldays together. For almost 40 years i have lived in Japan and I wish to make a gesture, something that never be forgotten, to express my true feeling towards your beautiful country._

"The letter went on to describe the gift and was signed_ yours humbly,_ by the man himself. Of course, are government was somersaulting backwards.

"The computers are being assembled at the Warren plant down in port Omaezaki, in Shizuoka Prefecture. Still be shipped across the country at the end of this month and on April 1st this to be a Special ceremony at the Tomoeda science museum. Prime minister is going to press the button that will bring all the computers online... the whole lot of them. And – this is top secret by the way –Mr. Warren is to be rewarded with Japanese citizenship, which is apparently something he is always wanted."

"Well, I'm very happy for him," Matt said "but you still haven't told me what's this has got to do with me." Ooishi glanced at Mrs. Jensen, who had finished her male while he was talking. She unwrapped another strawberry and cream sweet and took over.

"For some time now, our department –Special Operations –had been concerned about Mr. Warren. The fact of the matter is, we've been wondering if it's too good to be true. I won't go into all the details, Matt, but we've been looking at his business dealings... He has contacts in China and the former Soviet union; country's that have never been our friends. The government may think he's a saint, but there's a ruthless side to him too. And the security arrangements down at port Omaezaki worry us. He's more or less got his own private army. He's acting as if he's got something to hide."

"Not that anyone will listen," Ooishi muttered.

"Exactly. The government's too keen to get their hands on these computers to listen to us. That's why we decided to send our own man down to the plant. Supposedly to check out security. But in fact his job was to keep an eye on Darren Warren. Even if that meant going to England."

"You talking about my father," Matt said. Mahon Ishida had told him that he was going to England for the London stock market exchange. Another lie in a life that had been nothing but lies.

"Yes. He was there for several weeks and, like us, he didn't exactly take to Mr. Warren. In his reports, he described him as short tempered and unpleasant. But at the same time, he had to admit that everything seemed to be fine. Production was on schedule. The V techs were coming off the line. And everyone seemed to be happy. "But then we got a message. Ishida couldn't say very much because it was an open line, but he told us something had happened. He said he'd discovered something. That The V tech mustn't leave the plant here in Japan and that he was going to MI6 at once. He left the supposed abandoned warehouse industry in England at four o' clock. He never even got to the motorway. He was ambushed in a quiet country lane. The local police found the car and international affairs contacted us. We are arranged for it to be sent back here." Mat sat in silence. He could imagine it. The twisting lane with trees Just in Blossom. The silver Toyota Camry gleaming as it raced past. And, round a corner, a second car waiting...

"Why are you telling me all this?" He asked.

"It proves what we were saying," Ooishi replied. "We have had our doubts about Warren, so we send a man down. Our best man. He finds out something and he ends up dead. Maybe Ishida discovered the truth –"

"But I don't understand!" Matt interrupted. "Warren is giving away the computers. He's not making any money out of them. In return he's getting the Japanese citizenship. Fine! What's he got to hide?"

"We don't know," Ooishi said "we just don't know. But we want to find out. And soon. Before these computers leave the plant."

"They're being shipped out on 31st March," Mrs. Jensen added. "Only about two weeks from now." She glanced at Ooishi. He nodded. "That's why it's essential for us to send someone else to port Omaezaki. Someone to continue where your father left off." Matt smiled queasily.

"I hope you're not looking at me."

"We can't just send in another agent," Mrs. Jensen said. "The enemy has shown his hand, he's killed Ishida. He'll be expecting a replacement. Somehow we have to trick him."

"We have to send in someone who won't be noticed," Ooishi continued. "Someone who can look around and report back without being seen themselves. We were considering sending a woman. She might be able to slip in as a Secretary or receptions but then I had a better idea. "A few months ago, one of these computer magazines ran a competition. _Be the first boy or girl to use the virtual tech. Travelled to port Omaezaki and meet Darren Warren himself._ That was the first prize - was won by some more whiz kid when it comes to computers. Name of Jeremy sobokai." Matt wiped his hand across his forehead to get rid of the sweat. For a moment there he fought it was his good friend Izzy Izumi. "Fourteen years old. The same age as you. He looks a bit like you too. He's expected down at port Omaezaki less than two weeks from now."

"Wait a minute –"

"You've already shown yourself to be extraordinary brave and resourceful," Ooishi said. "First of all at the breakers yard... that was a karate kick, wasn't it? How long have you been learning karate." Matt said nothing, Ooishi went on "and then there was a little test we arranged for you at the TV station. Any boy climbing out of a window fifteen floors up just to satisfy his own curiosity as to be rather special. And seems to me that you're a very special indeed ."

"What we're suggesting is that you come and work for us," Mrs. Jensen said. "We have enough time to give you some basic training –not that you'll need it, probably –and we can equip you with a few items that might help you with what we had in mind. Then we'll arrange for you to take the place of this other boy. You'll go to Warren enterprises on 29th march. That's when this whiz kid is expected. Your stay there into 1st April, which is the day of the ceremony. The timing couldn't be better. You'll be able to meet Darren Warren, keep an eye on him and tell us what you think. Perhaps you'll also find out what it was that your father discovered and why he had to die. You shouldn't be in any danger. After all, who would expect a fourteen year old boy, to be a spy?"

"All we're asking you to do is report back to us," Ooishi said. "That's all we want. Two weeks of your time. A chance to make sure these computers are everything they've cracked up to be. A chance to serve your country." Ooishi had finished his dinner. He's played was completely clean, as if there had never been any food on it at all. He put down his knife and fork, then laying them precisely side by side. "All right, Matt," he said "so what do you say? Are you in...?" There was a long pause. Ooishi was watching him with polite interest. Mrs. Jensen was unwrapping yet another strawberry and cream sweet, her black eyes seemed fixed on the twist of paper in her hands.

"No," Matt said.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's a dumb idea. I don't want to be a spy. I wanna be a rock'n'roll star. Anyway, I have a life of my own." He found it difficult to choose the right words. As whole thing was just ridiculous, so ridiculous in fact he almost wanted to laugh. Why don't you ask this Jeremy sobokai to snoop around for you?"

"We don't believe he'd be as resource as you," Ooishi said "he's probably better at computer games." Matt shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not interested. I don't want to get involved."

"That's a pity," Ooishi said. His tone of voice hadn't changed but there was a heavy, dead equality to the words. And there was something different, too, about him. Throughout the meal he had been polite; not friendly, but at least human. In an instant, that had disappeared. Matt thought of a toilet chain being pulled. The human partner from a distant flushed away. "Then read them have on discuss your future, he continued. "Like it or not, Matt, the Fuji TV Network is now your legal Guardian."

"I thought you said the Fuji TV Network doesn't exist." Ooishi ignored him.

"Mahon Ishida has of course left the house and all his money to you. However, he left it in trust into you are twenty one. And we control that trust. So there will, I'm afraid, had to be some changes. The British girl who lives with you."

"Julie?"

"Miss Landers. Her visa has expired. She'll be returned to England. We propose to put the house on the market. Unfortunately, you have no relatives to look after you, so I'm afraid that also means you'll have to leave Tomoeda. You'll be sent to an institution. There's one I know in Hinamizawa, the shorogan institution. Not a very pleasant place, but I'm afraid there's no alternative."

"You're blackmailing me!" Matt exclaimed.

"Not at all."

"But if I agree to do what you ask...?" Ooishi glanced at Mrs. Jensen.

"Help us and we'll help you," she said. Matt considered, but not for very long. He had no choice and he knew it. Not when these people controlled his money, his present life, his entire future as well.

"You talked about training," he said. Mrs. Jensen nodded.

"That's why we brought you here, Matt. This is a training centre. If you agree to what we want, we can start at once."

"Start at once." Matt spoke the three words without liking the sound of them. Ooishi Mrs. Jensen were waiting for his answer. He sighed. "Yeah. All right. It doesn't look like I've got very much choice." He glanced at the slices of cold beef on his plate. Dead meat. Suddenly he knew how it felt.


	7. MTIS

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 7: MTIS (Matt The Incapable Soldier)**

For the hundredth time, Matt cursed Korindo Ooishi using language he hadn't even realized he knew. It was almost five o'clock, although it could have been five o'clock in the morning: the sky had barely changed at all throughout the day. It was great, cold, unforgivable weather. The rain was still falling, a thin drizzle that travelled horizontally in the wind, soaking through his supposedly waterproof clothing, mixing with his sweat and his dirt, chilling him to the bone. He unfolded his map and checked his position once again. He had to be close to the last RV of the day – the last rendezvous point –but he could see nothing. He was standing on a narrow track made up of loose grey shingle that crunched underneath his big black combat boots when he walked. The track snaked around the side of a mountain with a sheer drop to the left. He was somewhere in the Nagano Prefecture, near the hida mountains and there should have been a view, but it had been wiped out by the rain and the fading light. A few trees and twisted other side of the hill, with leaves as hard as thorns. Behind him, below him, ahead of him, it was all the same. Nowhere land. Matt hurt all over. That 10- kilogram Bergen rucksack he had been forced to wear was cutting into his shoulders and had rubbed blisters on his back. His right knee, where he had fallen earlier in the day, wasn't bleeding any more but it stung like hell. His shoulder was bruised and there was a gash along the side of his neck. His camouflaged outfit –he had swapped for his combat trousers for the real thing – fitted him badly, cutting his legs and under his arms but hanging loose everywhere else. He was close to exhaustion. He knew, was in great pain but was too tired to feel anything. But for the glucose and caffeine tablets in his survival pack, he would have granted to a halt ages ago. He knew if he didn't find the RV soon, and he would be physically unable to continue. Then he would be thrown off the course. "Canned" as they called it. They would like that. Swallowing down the taste of defeat, Matt folded the map and forced himself to continue forward. It was his ninth –or maybe his tenth-day of training. Time and begun to dissolve into one, as shapeless as the rain that poured down. After his lunch with Korindo Ooishi and Mrs. Jensen, he had been moved out of the manor house and into a crude wooden hut in the training camp a few miles away. There were a total of nine huts, each of quipped with four bunks made from solid steel with four matching metal lockers beside each bed. A fifth had been squeezed into one of them to accommodate Matt. Two more huts, painted a different colour, stood side by side. One of these was a kitchen and mess hall. The other contained toilets, sinks and showers – and not a single hot tap in sight. On his first day here, Matt had been introduced to his training officer, an incredibly fit black sergeant. He was the sort of man who thought he had seen everything... That was until he saw Matt. And he examined the new arrival for a long minute before he had spoken.

"It's not my job to ask questions," he had said to him. "But if it was, I wanna know what they were thinking of, sending me children. Do you have any idea where you are, boy? This isn't a holiday resort. This isn't an adventure playground either." He cut the word into its five syllables and spat them out. "I have you for 11 days and he expects me to give you the sort training that should take fourteen weeks. That's not just mad. That's suicide."

"I didn't ask to be here," Matt had said. Suddenly the sergeant was furious with him.

"You don't speak to me unless I give you permission," he shouted "and when you do speak to me, you address me as 'SIR'. Do you understand me, Maggot?"

"Sir, yes, sir." He said with his face covered in the man's saliva. As the sergeant turned and walked away, Matt wiped the salvia off his face and already decided that this guy was worse than his geography teacher.

"There are five units operational here at the moment," the officer went on. "You'll join J Unit. We don't use names here. I have no name. You have no name. If anyone asks you what you're doing, you tell them nothing. Some of the men may be hard on you. Some of them may resent you being here. But that's too bad. You'll just have to live with it. And there something else you need to know. I can make allowances for you. You're a boy, not a man. But if you complain, you'll be canned. If you cry, you'll be canned. If you can't keep up, you'll be canned. Between you and me, boy, this is a mistake and I want to can you." After that, Matt joined J Unit. As the sergeant had predicted, they weren't exactly overjoyed to see him. There were four of them. As Matt was soon to discover, the special operations division of JIN 7 sent its agents to the training centre used by the Special Assault Team–the SAT. Much of the training was based on SAT methods and this included the numbers and makeup of each team. So there were four men, each with their own special skills. And one boy, seemingly with none. They were all in their mid – twenties, spread out over the bunks in companionable silence. Two of them smoking. And one dismantling and a reassembling his gun – a SIG P226 semi automatic pistol. Each of them had been given the codename: Dragon, Ox, Bear, and Viper. From now on Matt would be known as... Cub. This was humiliating, four men with really tough names and Matt given a pathetic name as a cub, he would have settled with lizard or wolf, but cub that was just insult to injury. The leader, Dragon, was the one with the gun. He was short and muscular with broad shoulders and black, close cropped had a face that was handsome, but the uneven nose which must have been broken at some time in the past, made it slightly uneven. He was the first to speak. Slamming the gun down, and examining Matt with cold dark grey eyes.

"So who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded.

"Cub," Matt replied.

"A bloody high schooler!" Dragon spoke with a strange, slightly foreign accent. "I don't believe it. Are you with special operations?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that." Matt went over to his bunk and sat down. The Mattress felt as solid as the frame. Despite the cold, there was only one blanket. Dragon shook his head and smiled humourlessly.

"Look what they've sent to us," he muttered "the secret agent? The incapable agent more like it." After that, the name stuck. The incapable agent was what they called him. In the days that followed, Matt shadowed the group, not quite part of it but never by far away. Almost everything they did, he did. He learned map-reading, radio communication and first aid. He took part in an unarmed combat class and was knocked to the ground so often that it took all his nerve to persuade himself to get up again. And then there was the assault course. Five times he was shouted and bullied across the nightmare of nets and ladders, tyres, tight ropes and ditches and of course the towering wall. The whole course stretched almost half a kilometre through, and over, the Woodland beside the huts. Matt thought of it as the adventure playground from hell. The first time he tried it, he fell off a rope him into a pit that seemed to have been filled up on purpose with freezing slime. Half drowned and filthy, he had been sent back to the start by the sergeant. Matt thought he would never get to the end, but the second time he finished it in twenty five minutes –which he cut down to 17 minutes by the end of the week. Bruised and exhausted though he was, he was quietly pleased with himself. Even Dragon only managed it in twelve. Dragon remained actively hostile towards Matt. The other three men simply ignored him, but Dragon did everything he could to taunt or humiliate was as if Matt had somehow insulted him by being placed in the group. Once, crawling under the, Dragon lashed out with his foot, missing Matt's face by a centimetre. OF course he would have said it was an accident if the boot had made contact with his face. Another time he was more successful, tripping Matt up in the mess hall and sending him flying, along with his tray, cutlery and steaming plate of stew. Every time he spoke to Matt, he used the same sneering tone of voice but with a different nickname.

"Goodnight, cub the incapable soldier. Don't wet the bed." Matt bit his lip and said nothing. But he was glad when the four men was sent off for a days jungle survival course –this wasn't part of his own training – even though the Sergeant worked him twice as hard and once they were gone. He preferred to be on his own, he was used to it. But on the EIGHTH day, Dragon did come close to finishing him altogether. It happened in the nice little place named the killing house. The Killing House was a fake; a mock up of an embassy used to train the SAT in the art of hostage release. Matt had watched J unit twice go into the house. The first time was swinging down from the roof, and had followed their progress on closed circuit TV. All four men were armed. Matt himself didn't take part because someone somewhere had decided he shouldn't carry a gun. Inside The Killing House, mannequins had been arranged as terrorists and hostages. Smashing down the doors and using stun grenades to clean the rooms was deafening, multiple blasts, Dragon, Ox, Bear and viper had successful completed their mission both times. This time Matt had joined them. The killing house had been booby-trapped. They weren't told how. All five of them went in unarmed. Their goal was to simply to get from one end of the house to the other without being "killed". They almost made it. In the first Room, made up to look like a huge dining room, they found that pressure pads under the carpet and infrared beams across the doors. For Matt it was an eerie experience, tiptoeing behind the other four men, watching them as they dismantled the two devices, using cigarette smoke to expose the otherwise invisible beams. It was strange to be afraid of everything and yet see nothing. In the hallway there was a motion detector which would have activate a machine gun (Matt hoped they were blanks) behind a Japanese screen. The third room was empty. The fourth was a living room with the exit –a set of French Windows –on the other side. There was a tripwire, barely thicker than a human hair, running the entire width of the room, and the French Windows were also armed with a rack full with stun grenades. While viper dealt with the alarm, Ox and Bear prepared to neutralise the trip wire, unclipping an electronic circuit board and a variety of tools from their belts. Dragons stopped them.

"Leave it. We're out of here." At the same moment, viper signalled. He had deactivated the alarm. The French windows were wide open. Viper was the first out. Then Ox and Bear. Matt would have been the last to leave the room, but just as he reached the exit he found Dragon blocking his way. "Tough luck, incapable agent," Dragon said. His voice was soft, almost kind. The next thing Matt knew, the heel of dragons palm had rammed into his chest, pushing matt back with astonishing force. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance and fell, remembered the trip wire and tried to twist his body to avoid it. But it was hopeless. His flailing right hand caught the wire. He actually felt it against his wrist. He hit the floor hard, pulling the wire with him. And then... All hell broke loose. The HRT stun grenade has been used frequently by the SAT. It's a small round device filled with a mixture of magnesium powder and Mercury fulminate. When the trip wire activated the grenade, the Mercury exploded at once, not just a deafening Matt but shuddering through him as if it could rip out his heart. At the same time, the magnesium ignited and burned for a full ten seconds. The light was so blinding that even closing his eyes made no difference. Matt lay there with his face against the hard wooden floor, his hands scrabbling against his head, unable to move, waiting for this whole nightmare to end. But even then it wasn't over.

When the magnesium finally burned out, it was as if all the light had burned out with it. Matt stumbled to his feet, unable to see or hear, not even sure anymore where he was. He felt sick to his stomach. The room swayed around him. The heavy smell of chemicals found in the air. Ten minutes later he staggered out into the open. Dragon was waiting for him with the others, his face blank, and Matt realised he must have slipped out before he hit the ground. An angry sergeant walked over to him. Matt hadn't expected to see a shred concern in the man's face and he wasn't disappointed.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened in there, cub?" He demanded. When Matt didn't answer, he went on. "You ruined the exercise. You were fouled up. You can get the whole unit canned. So you'd better tell me what the hell went on in there." Matt glanced at dragon. Dragon looked the other way. What should he say? Should even try to tell the truth? "Well?" The sergeant was waiting.

"Nothing happened, sir," Matt said. "I just wasn't looking where I was going. I stepped on something and there was an explosion."

"If that was real life, you'd be dead," the sergeant yelled. "What did I tell you? Sending me a child was a mistake. And a stupid, idiotic, clumsy, useless child who doesn't look where he's going... that's even worse!" Matt just stood there, taking all the shit that was thrown at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see dragons half smile. the sergeant had seen it too.

"You think it's so funny? Do you dragon? Well you can go in there and clear that shit up. And tonight you'd better get some rest. All of you. Because tomorrow you're going on another hike... A forty kilometre hike. Survival rations. No fire. This is a survival course, and if you survive then maybe you'll have a reason to smile." Matt remembered the words now, exactly twenty-four hours later. He had spent the last 11 of them on its feet, following the trail the sergeant set out for him on the map. The exercise had begun at 6.00 AM after a grey-lit breakfast of sausages and beans. Dragon and the others have disappeared into the distance ahead of him a long time ago, even though they had been given 25 KG rucksacks to carry. They had also been giving 8 hours to complete the course. Accommodating for Matt's age, he had been given 12. He rounded a corner, his feet scrunching on the gravel. There was someone standing ahead of him. It was the sergeant. He had just lit a cigarette and Matt watched him slide the matches back into his pocket. Seeing him there brought back the shame and anger of the day before and at the same time sapped the last of his strength. Suddenly Matt had had enough of Ooishi, Mrs. Jensen, dragon... The whole stupid thing. With a final effort he stumbled the last 100 metres and came to a halt. Rain and sweat trickled down the side of his face. His hair, now dark with mud and grime, was glued across his forehead. The sergeant looked at his watch. "11 hours exactly. That's not bad, Cub. But the others were here 3 hours ago." Joy for them, Matt thought. He didn't say anything. "Anyway, you should just make it to the last RV," the sergeant went on. "It's up there." He pointed to a wall. Not a sloping wall. A sheer one. Solid rock rising fifty meters up without handhold or foothold in sight. Even looking at it, matt felt his stomach shrink. Mahon ishida had taken him climbing- in Scotland, up Mount Fuji, and anywhere else he could take matt. But this was beyond difficult; he had never attempted something like this. Not on his own. Not when he was tired.

"I can't," he said. In the end the two words came out easily for him.

"I didn't hear that," the sergeant said.

"I said, I can't do it, sir."

"Can't isn't a word we use around here."

"I don't care. I've had enough. I've just had..." Matt's voice cracked. He didn't trust himself to go on. He stood there, cold and empty, waiting for the axe to fall. But it didn't. The sergeant gazed at him for a long minute. He nodded his head slowly.

"Listen to me, Cub," he said. "I know what happened in the killing house." Matt glanced up. "Dragon forgot about the closed circuit TV. We've got it all on film."

"Then why –?" Matt began.

"Did you make a complaint against him, Cub?"

"No, sir."

"Do you want to make a complaint against him, Cub?" A pause. Then, "No, sir."

"Good." The sergeant pointed at the rock face, suggesting that her up with his finger. "It's not as difficult as it looks," he said. "And they're waiting for you just over the top. You've got a nice cold dinner. Survival rations. You don't want to miss that." Matt drew a deep breath and started forward. As he passed the sergeant, he stumbled and put a hand to steady himself brushing against him.

"Sorry, sir," he said. It took him 20 minutes to reach the top and, sure enough, J unit was already there, crouching around three small tents that they must have pitched earlier in the afternoon. Two for two men sharing. One, the smallest, for Matt. Viper, a thin, fair-haired man who spoke with an Osakaian accent, looked up at Matt. He had a tin of cold stew in one hand, a tea spoon in the other.

"I didn't think you'd make it," he said. Matt couldn't help but notice of certain warmth in a man's voice. And for the first time he hadn't been called an incapable agent.

"Nor did I," Matt said. Dragon was squatting over what he hoped would become a campfire, trying to get started with two flints while ox and bear watched. He was getting nowhere. The stones only produced the smallest of sparks, and the scraps of newspaper and leaves that he had collected were already far too wet to ignite. Dragons struck the stones again and again. The others watched, their faces glum. Matt held out a box of matches that he had picked pocketed from the sergeant when he had pretended to stumble at the foot of the rock face. "These might help," he said. He freedom matches down, then went into his tent.


	8. Matt strikes back

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 8: Matt strikes back**

It had been a long days training, weapon assembling, four mile hikes with nearly a 100 kg of equipment and five hundred press ups. Matt just collapsed in the bed he was glad lights out was at 8:30pm. As he slept he dreamt of all the events that had happened that ended with him being sent here. The funeral, the fight at the scrap yard, the meeting with the Fuji TV network, and the discovery of who his father actually was... it didn't make sense. Just then Matt woke suddenly, brutally, wrenched out of his sleep. He was aware of hands, pulling away the covers. A face in a black, balaclava mask. Two pitiless eyes gazing at him as if he were an exhibit in a museum. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, he was jerked out of bed and into the night. It was cold outside, with a light drizzle hanging in the air. Matt was dressed only in shorts and a T-shirt. He shivered, wondering what the hell was going on.

The SAT training camp had been taken over while he slept, exhausted by the exercises of the day before. There were vehicles parked all around him, lights, men moving in and out of the shadows, the crackle of a distant radio. Matt wondered briefly what had happened to the men in his squadron but then decided he was actually much more concerned about what was going to happen to him. Two men had taken hold of him. His arms were clamped between them. He was half-carried across the yard, his feet dragging in the mud behind him. If he had been a sack of potatoes, they wouldn't have treated him less gently.

They took him into a half-derelict barn on the other side of the camp. The SAT had been based in what had once been a farm and Matt guessed that this building might have been used to store feed. It still had an earthy, slightly sour smell. But there was nothing in there now apart from a chair, a naked light bulb and a hard, cement floor. Moisture trickled down the rough, brick walls. Matt was slammed into the chair and pinned in place. Another man appeared from nowhere. So now there were three of them, all dressed in battle fatigues and balaclavas. They surrounded him.

"Your name," one of them demanded.

"Its Cub," Matt replied.

"Your real name."

"I can't give you that . . ."

"What are you doing with the SAT? You're a bloody schoolboy! Why are you here?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you . . ."

A face closed in on him. Matt had never seen such ugly eyes. The mouth twisted behind the stocking mask. "You can tell us!" it sneered. "I'm giving you permission."

"My name is Cub," Matt repeated. It was the code name he had been given when he first arrived. None of the men in the SAT used their true identities. The eyes narrowed. Matt could see the anger and the cruelty they contained. They belonged to a man who hadn't expected to be defied– and certainly not by a teenager.

"You will tell us," he snarled. "Trust me on that. You'll tell us everything we want to know before this night is over."

A signal must have been given. Matt was pulled off the chair and manhandled out of the room, his toes scraping against the concrete. He was fully awake now and his eyes had got used to the dark so he was able to make out more details of what was happening in the camp. They had been invaded. It was as simple as that. The men were all soldiers – obviously Japanese. But they were the enemy. Who had sent them? What exactly did they want? There were three trucks parked to one side and – beyond them – an awkward-looking vehicle that looked like a caravan except that it was perched high up on six, thick rubber wheels. More soldiers were moving between the buildings. As he was taken across the yard, he saw Dragon being dragged the other way. The SAT man was no friend of his. In fact, nobody had tried harder to make him feel unwelcome. But now, for a brief second, their eyes met. Matt was astonished to see that Dragon was looking scared.

The invaders carried Matt over to one of the other farm buildings and threw him inside. There was a metal door, which slammed shut behind him. He had landed on the floor, and he picked himself up slowly. That was when he saw that he wasn't alone.

The three other members of his unit – Viper, Ox and Bear – were sitting, slumped on wooden benches. Like him, they were dressed only in their night clothes and he guessed they had also been rudely woken and pulled out of bed. Ox, the youngest of the three, had been hurt. There was a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. His fair hair was damp and untidy. The other two men seemed to be deep in thought. Nobody was saying anything.

"What's happening?" Matt asked. There was no answer. Matt felt a spurt of annoyance.

None of the men in the unit ever spoke to him. He had begun to get used to it. But this was different. For once they were all in the same boat – and it seemed to be sinking fast.

"Tell me what's going on!" Matt demanded.

Ox glanced at Bear, who nodded slowly. "RTI," he said, and spat.

"RTI?"

"RTI training. Resistance to Interrogation." Bear took over. "They're testing our ability to keep quiet if we're captured by the enemy," he explained. "We tell them anything except our code names, we're canned. We're out of the SAT!"

"Who are they?" Matt asked.

"Shogun Sun." This time is was Viper who had answered. "A local unit. They hate our guts – because they know we're the best. So they really enjoy doing this to us."

Matt 's head swam. Japanese soldiers attacking Japanese soldiers . . . and it was all just another training exercise! Not for the first time, he wondered how he had managed to get caught up in all this."We talk, we get thrown out," Viper continued. "And that's exactly what they want."

"But it's just an exercise," Matt said. "They can't hurt us."

Ox smiled and Matt saw the blood on his teeth. "You think I just slipped?" he asked.

"They can do what they like," Viper said. "One of us winds up in hospital; they can say it was just an accident."

"And accidents do happen!" Bear spat in disgust. Ten minutes later, the door opened again and Dragon was thrown in. He landed flat on his stomach and Matt saw that his head and the upper part of his body were soaking wet. There was a bruise on the side of his cheek.

"The pigs!" he rasped. He lay where he was, his shoulders heaving. "The lousy, stinking . . ." Slowly, he pulled himself off the floor. "They laid into me!" he exclaimed, and Matt could hear the surprise in his voice. "They were really enjoying themselves!"

"Did you tell them anything?" Bear asked.

"Of course not." Dragon's eyes settled on Matt . "What about you, Cub? I bet you told them. I bet you blabbed."

"No, I didn't." Matt was angry now. Dragon had picked on him from the day he had arrived. He had never trusted him, never even given him a chance.

"But you will . . . and you might as well know now. If you blow it, we all blow it. Because we're a unit. It only takes one of us to talk and we'll all be out of here."

"So what happens now?" Matt asked.

"They let us sweat it out," Ox said. "It might be an hour. It might be a few minutes. But one thing you can be sure about. They'll come for us again . . ."

Matt ignored him. He went over to the door and examined it. The door was a solid metal sheet, fitting into a metal frame, bolted from the outside. The room itself had once been used for dipping sheep. There were a few shelves, rotten now, with some rusting canisters that might once have contained chemicals. A single barred window looked out onto the night. He glanced at it briefly, but it was obvious he wasn't going to get out that way. He examined the floor. It was made up of heavy paving slabs, but in the middle there was a trench – square and about half a meter deep, lined with concrete. There was a circular metal plate at the far end. It reminded Matt of an oversized bath plug. Then he realized what it was. A manhole cover.

"What's this?" Matt demanded.

Dragon ignored him. But Ox slowly turned his head.

"There's some sort of drain," Matt said. "Can you help me get the cover off?"

Dragon scowled. "You really think they'd bung us in here if there was a drain big enough for us to crawl out?" he asked.

Matt examined the cover. Dragon was right. It was barely even the size of a dustbin lid. But even so . . .

"You're adults," he said simply. Ox saw what he was thinking. The Shogun Sun would have used this place before. But only for fully grown men. Matt was half their size – slim for his age. Dragon still didn't move, but Ox and Bear came over to the trench. Somehow, they managed to get their fingers under the heavy lid. They prised it off to reveal a narrow tunnel, running out of the room, underneath the wall. Matt looked down, already wishing he hadn't suggested this. The tunnel was pitch black and slimy from recent rain. It might run a hundred meters before it surfaced. It might not surface at all.

"You think you can get through that?" Ox asked.

Matt nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Here!" Viper had produced a small torch. He flicked it on. "You're lucky. I always sleep with this in my pocket," he said.

"Yeah," Matt nodded. "This really is my lucky night."

He knelt down beside the opening. He could already smell the chemicals rising up out of the mud. He wondered how long it had been since the sheep dip had last been used. Could he really do this? For a moment, he doubted himself.

Then Dragon spoke.

"Good luck," he said. It was the first two words he had ever addressed to Matt that weren't a jibe or an insult.

That decided him. Matt wriggled forwards on his stomach and entered the tunnel.

It was pitch black. But for Viper's torch, he wouldn't have had the courage even to begin. Matt was squeezing himself into a circular opening that was hardly bigger than his shoulders. He knew that he was only a few meters underground, but even so, he felt as if he was buried alive and had to force himself to breathe evenly, not to panic. The floor of the tunnel was wet and slippery . . . at least that helped him a little, making it easier for him to slide himself along. But the stink of ancient chemicals made him sick. The torch was clamped between his teeth and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to scream. He wished he had never volunteered. He willed himself on. The beam of the torch showed that the tunnel continued straight, then came to a sudden halt. A nasty thought suddenly sprang into Matt's mind. If he came to a dead end, would he be able to maneuver himself backwards again? At least Viper and the others knew he was there. If he didn't reappear soon, they would raise the alarm. And hopefully someone would reach him before he passed out and suffocated in the cold slime and the darkness. He came to the end and twisted his head round, trying to look up. It seemed that the roof was solid. Somehow he managed to get his hand above his head and felt a hard metal surface. A second manhole cover? He pushed. Nothing happened. Matt swore silently through gritted teeth. He had come all this way for nothing. The exit was sealed. But then he remembered Ox and Bear, prising off the first lid. It had been heavy, even for two men. He put his hand flat against the metal and pushed again. This time there was a little movement. He pressed upwards with all his strength and was rewarded by a grating sound as the second manhole cover came free. Delicious night air flooded in through a crack and he saw the glimmer of moonlight. He dropped the torch, letting it disappear into the darkness. If there was anyone up there on the surface, he didn't want to advertise that he was on the way. Using both hands now, he slid the cover far enough back to create a crescent-shaped doorway to freedom. He waited a few seconds, listening out for the sound of approaching footsteps, then pulled himself through. His head came up in the middle of the courtyard. There was nobody in sight. Filthy and gasping, Matt emerged into the night air, then squatted down, searching for any sign of movement. He was still dressed only in the T-shirt and shorts. The material was soaked through. Dark green slime oozed down his legs. He caught his breath. He must look like a nightmare! The creature from the black lagoon . . .

He took his bearings. The building where the SAT men were being held was right in front of him, but he could see at once that getting them out wouldn't be as easy as he had hoped. The door wasn't just bolted. There was a big padlock on it – and even if Matt managed to break it open, he'd make too much noise. They'd all be captured again before they had time to move.

The half-ruined barn where he had been interrogated was on the other side, some distance away. It seemed to be empty, but at the moment there was nobody left to interrogate. Now his attention was drawn to the vehicle that he had noticed when he had been dragged over to the cell. It was parked on a slope, about twenty meters away: a rectangular green box perched high up on thick rubber wheels. It had reminded him before of a caravan. Certainly it had windows. And there were lights coming from inside. But looking at it again, he saw that it was more like a portakabin or even a tank. It was an ugly thing. Only the army could have dreamed up something like it.

In fact the vehicle was an S-250 Grass Shelter, standard army issue. The GRASS stood for Gichner, Relocatable Accommodations Shelter System and it was being used as a temporary base by the men who had grabbed Matt and his unit. On an impulse, he hurried over to it, crouching low, still afraid of being seen. But for the moment he was safe. The men inside were too high up. Even if they had chanced to glance out of the windows, they would have looked across the courtyard, well above his head.

One of the windows was open. He heard voices coming from inside.

"Let's get back to them, then!"

"Finish your Ramen. We've got all night." Matt recognized the second voice. It belonged to the man who had threatened him. "I'm really going to enjoy this . . ."

"Let's use the bath," a third voice said. "Fill it up with freezing water and try half-drowning them all."

"What about the kid?" This was the first voice again. "Maybe we should do him last. We'll give the kid a break." Said the first voice almost sympathetic towards matt.

"Of course...First we'll break his little legs, then we'll break his little arms. . . then break his little neck! Then we'll take a break and start on the next lot." someone said, and they all laughed.

Matt knew he didn't have much time. He quickly examined the Grass Shelter, the fat tires, resting on chocks. The brake lever at the back . . .

The idea came to him instantly.

Getting the chocks out was easier than he had thought it would be, but there was a complicated lock system on the brake that took him a few precious moments to work out. A lever with a button, a pin holding everything in place. He slid the pin out, but the button was so stiff that he had to use both hands, and all his strength, to force it down. There was a loud click. He had released the lever and he gently lowered it. The brake was off – but the Grass shelter didn't move. Matt rested a shoulder against the back and pushed.

"Come on, you stupid thing," matt said quietly trying to move it "Budge!" He was lucky. The soldiers must have parked in a hurry. The slope was fairly steep. It only took a little effort and the wheels began to turn.

There were six Shogun Sun's inside the shelter. Viper had been right about them. Three of them had once been rejected by the SAT and so they hated anyone who had been allowed to join. The other three just hated everyone. All of them had been happy to volunteer for RTI training. In fact, every year, there was quite a queue to see who would get the privilege.

Now, one of them looked out of the window. "Boss . . ." he muttered.

The man he was talking to was huge with a shaven head, small eyes and two gold-capped teeth. "What is it?" he demanded.

"Are we moving?" the first man asked.

The Grass Shelter was indeed moving. It was already rolling down the hill and it was picking up speed all the time. As Matt watched, it bounced through the long grass and smashed into a hedge. There was the sound of branches scratching against metal – but there was no way the hedge could hold back anything so big. It continued through and – moving faster than ever – disappeared into the night.

Inside the shelter, the Shogun Sun were scrambling for the door. Hot Ramen was splashing all around them. Paper cups and china bowls had rolled off the table and smashed. Magazines and briefing documents were scattering. The shaven-headed man managed to grab onto the handle . . .

. . . Just as the Grass Shelter catapulted off the edge of a cliff.

The SAT camp was in the Nagano Prefecture. Mountains and cliffs had all played their part in the training. In a way, the Shogun Sun were lucky. They were only a hundred and fifty meters up in the air and there was a lake – ice cold and black – waiting to break their fall. The result of Matt 's work would be two broken legs, a broken collarbone, eleven cracked ribs and a severe concussion. But nobody would actually be killed.

Meanwhile, Matt had already turned his attention to the dipping shed. He found a piece of metal and used it to snap open the padlock, then dropped it and opened the door.

Dragon was the first out. He took a look round the deserted farm. Then he turned his eyes back to Matt. "Where is everyone?" he demanded.

Matt shrugged. "I think they went for a midnight dip," he said. They all laughed about it, this was the first time anyone actually laughed. he joined in, maybe the rest of the training wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	9. Taylor Designed Toys

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 9: Taylor Designed Toys**

In an office in Tomoeda, Mrs. Jensen sat waiting while Korindo Ooishi read the report. The sun was shining. The pigeon was strutting back and forth along the ledge outside as if he was guarding this office.

"He's doing very well," Ooishi said at last. "Remarkable well, in fact." He turned a page. His eyes look serious and disappointed. "I see he missed target practice."

"Were you planning to give him a gun?" Mrs. Jensen asked.

"No. I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Then why does he need target practice?" Ooishi raised an eyebrow.

"We can't give a child his age a gun," he said. "On the other hand, I don't think we can send him to port Omaezaki empty handed. You'd better have a word with our client."

"I already have. She's working on them now, only under two conditions." Ooishi then suddenly looked her and said surprised but showed no emotion.

"Oh? And what are these conditions?" As Mrs. Jensen unwrapped a strawberry and cream sweet she said.

"One was to see the agent she was supplying the gadgets for, two hasn't been said yet, but believe me we have to comply if we want Matt to have these gadgets for this mission." Ooishi signed. This sigh sounded like defeat, he had to agree to this person's conditions if they were to get anywhere.

"It's been a long time since she built any gadgets for one of our agents, but she was the best we had and still is, she wasn't exactly pleased to see us again when we visited her office." Mrs. Jensen stood up as if to leave. But at the door she hesitated.

"Then again she may have a reason."

"What do you mean?" Ooishi said.

"Well it's dangerous out there especially for a child. I wonder if it's occurred to you that Mahon might have been preparing him for this all along," she said.

"What are you driving at here Mrs. Jensen?"

"Preparing Matt to replace him. Ever since he was old enough to walk, he's been training him for intelligence work... but without knowing it. I mean, he's gone on several holidays in his whole life, so he now speaks French, German, English and Spanish. He's been mountain climbing, diving and skiing. He's learned karate. Physically he is in perfect shape." She shrugged. "I think Ishida wanted Matt to become a spy."

"But not this soon," Ooishi said.

"I agree. You know as well as I do, Korindo – he's not ready yet. If we send him into a Warren Enterprises, he's going to himself killed."

"Perhaps." The single word was cold, a Matter of fact.

"He's 14 years old! We can't do it."

"We have to." Ooishi stood up and opened the window, letting in the air and the sound of the traffic. The pigeon, that was guarding the ledge, hurled himself of the building, afraid of him. "This whole business worries me," he said. "The prime minister sees the V tech's as a future investment, for himself and for his government. But there's still something about Darren Warren that I don't like. Did you tell him about Ivan Harkov?"

"No." Mrs. Jensen shook her head.

"Then it's time you did. It was Ivan who killed his father. I'm sure of it. And if Ivan was working for warren—"

"What will you do if Ivan kills Matt Ishida?"

"That's not our problem, Mrs. Jensen. If the boy gets himself killed, it'll be the final proof that there is something wrong. At the very least it will allow me to postpone the Virtual tech project and take a good, hard look at what's going on at port Omaezaki. In a way, it would almost help us if he _was_ killed."

"The boy's not ready yet. He'll make mistakes. It won't take them long to find out who he is." Mrs. Jensen signed. "To be honest, I don't think Matt has got much chance at all."

"I agree." Ooishi turned back from window. The sun slanted over his shoulder. A single shadow fell across his face. "But it's too late to worry about that now," he said. "We have no more time. Stop the training. It's time to send him in."

Matt said hunched up in the back of the low flying C -130 military aircraft, his stomach churned behind his knees as it banked left and right. There were 12 men sitting in two lines around him – his unit and two others. For an hour now, the plane had been flying at just 100 metres, following the Nagano Prefecture Mountains, dipping and swerving to avoid the mountain peaks. A single red bulb glowed behind a wire mesh, adding to the heat in the cramped cabin. Matt could feel the engine's vibrating through him. It was like travelling in a tin can, loud and bumpy. The thought of jumping out of a plane with an oversize silk umbrella would have made Matt sick with fear- but it was only that morning he'd been told that he wouldn't in fact be jumping himself. A signal from Tomoeda. They couldn't risk him breaking a leg, it said, and Matt guessed that the end of his training was near. Even so, he had been taught how to pack the parachute, how to control it, how to exit a plane and how to land, and at the end of the day the sergeant had instructed him to join the flight –just for the experience. Now close to the designated drop zone, Matt felt almost disappointed. He'd watch everyone else jump and then he'd be left alone.

"P minus 5..." The voice of the pilot came over the speaker system, distant and metallic. Matt gritted his teeth. Five minutes until the big jump. He looked at the other men, shuffling into position, checking the cords that connected them to the static line. He was sitting next to Dragon. To his surprise, the man was completely quiet, unmoving. It was hard to tell in the half darkness, but the look on his face could almost have been fear. There was a loud buzz and the red light turned green. The assistant pilot had climbed through from the cockpit. He reached for a handle and pulled open a door set in the back of the aircraft, allowing the cold air to rush in. Matt could see a single square of night. It was raining. The rain howled past. The green light began to flash. The assistant pilot tapped the first pair on the shoulders and Matt watched them shuffle over to the side and then throw themselves out. For a moment they where there, frozen in the doorway. Then they were gone, like a photograph crumpled and spun away by the wind. Two more men followed. Then another two, until only the final pair had still to jump. Matt glanced at Dragon, who seemed to be struggling with a piece of equipment. His partner was moving to the door without him, but still Dragon didn't look up. The other man jumped. Suddenly Matt was aware that he and Dragon were left.

"Move it!" The assistant pilot shouted above the roar of the engines. Dragon picked himself up. His eyes briefly met with Matt's and in that moment Matt knew. Dragon was a popular leader. He was tough and he was fast, completing the 40 KM hike as if it was just a stroll in the park. But he had a weak spot. Somehow he'd allowed this parachute jump to get to him and he was too scared to move. It was hard to believe, but there he was, frozen in the doorway, his arms rigid, staring out. Matt glanced back. The assistant pilot was looking the other way. He hadn't seen what was happening. And when he did? If Dragon failed to make the jump, it would be the end of his training and even the end of his career. Even hesitating would be bad enough. He'd be canned. Matt thought for a moment. Dragon hadn't moved. Matt could see his shoulders rising and falling as he was trying to summon up the courage to go. Ten seconds had passed. Maybe more. The assistant pilot was leaning down, stowing away a piece of equipment. Matt stood up.

"Dragon," he said. Dragon didn't even hear him. Matt took one last quick look at the assistant pilot; he quietly walked over to dragon, and then kicked out with all his strength. His foot slammed into Dragon's backside. He'd put all his strength behind it. Dragon was caught by surprise, his hands coming free as he plunged into the swirling night air. As a dragon fell Matt could have sworn that he heard him screaming "Dam you cub!" The assistant pilot turned round and saw Matt.

"What are you doing?" He shouted.

"Just giving a kick start to someone's career." Matt shouted back. The plane curved in the air and began the journey home.

Mrs. Jensen was waiting for him when he walked into the hangar. She was sitting at a table, wearing a grey silk jacket and trousers with a black handkerchief flowing out of her top pocket. For a moment she didn't recognize him. Matt was dressed in a flying suit. His hair was damp from the rain. His face was pinched with tiredness and he seemed to have grown older very fast. None of the men had arrived back yet. A truck had been sent to collect them from a field about three kilometres away.

"Matt?" She said. Matt looked at her but said nothing. "It was my decision to stop you jumping," she said. "I hope you're not disappointed. I just thought it was too much of a risk. Please. Sit down." Matt sat down opposite her. He didn't look too happy. "I have something that might cheer you up," She went on. "I've brought you some toys."

"I think I'm a little old for toys now," Matt said.

"Not these toys." She then signalled for a man in the shadows to open a solid steel door. As it creaked open matt heard a clicking sound behind him. It was the sound of high heels walking across the hard concrete floor of the hanger, matt hadn't turned round to see who it was. Suddenly the clicking stopped and a woman spoke.

"Matt...? Matt Ishida, you're the new agent of JIN 7?" The woman knew his name, her voice was sweet and very pristine, and it expressed concern when she saw him. Then out from the corner of his eye he saw the woman who was walking towards him. She was a tall woman –much taller in red laced heels- she had a slim figure and perfect sized feet for a slim woman. She was wearing an orange business suit with two straight black lines going from her shoulders to her waist and with six black buttons in the centre. Her hair was brown with a large side fringe that hung over the right side of her face that nearly covered her blue eyes. Matt knew the woman very well; her name was Samantha Taylor, Madison Taylor's mother. She was the president of her own toy company but why was she here and how did she know about JIN 7?

"Mrs Taylor? You know about JIN 7." Matt asked puzzled. As she looked from Matt to Mrs. Jensen she said to her.

"Before I hand these over, you must agree to my second condition."

"And what is your second condition?" Mrs Jensen asked.

"Madison needs to know about this mission and who's involved."

"I'm sorry Samantha, that's one condition we cannot allow." Mrs Jensen regrettably said, although she didn't show it.

"Well considering how much time you have before the launch of V tech, I'm afraid you'll have to. Matt is one of my dear Madison's friends, I'm not going to keep her in the dark about this, not again." Samantha sounded sad, like a horrible dream come to life. There was a long pause. Suddenly Mrs Jensen then slid across some papers along the table to Samantha. Matt saw what was on the top of the paper it read, "The Official Secrets Act 1989." It looked like Mrs Jensen had no choice but to accept this condition. As she sat down next to matt, he started to feel uncomfortable his best friends mum now knows the truth about everything but matt trusted her but there were things puzzling him but that didn't matter now.

"What have you got for him?" Mrs. Jensen demanded.

"Well from your visit to my office, I'm afraid we haven't had a great deal of time, Mrs. Jensen," Samantha replied. "I've designed toys for all the ages, but the real challenge was designing specifically for a 14 year old. So we brainstormed, researched and adapted our original designs." She picked the first object of the tray. A simple yo-yo. It was slightly larger than normal, made of black plastic. "Let's start with this," Samantha said. Matt shook his head. The president of the toy company and a group of manufacture workers and all they could come up with was a yo-yo, for Matt it was almost laughable.

"Don't tell me," he exclaimed, "it's some sort of secret weapon…"  
"Not exactly. I was told you weren't to have weapons. You're too young."  
"So it's not really a hand grenade? Pull the string and run like hell?"  
"Certainly not. It's a yo-yo." Samantha pulled out the string, holding it between her slim finger and thumb. "However, the string is a special sort of nylon. Very advanced. There's thirty yards of it and it can lift weights of up to two hundred pounds, not that you weigh that much. The actual yoyo is motorized and clips onto your belt. Very useful for climbing."  
"Amazing." Matt was unimpressed.  
"And then there's this." Samantha then produced a small tube. Matt read the side: OXY CLEAN. FOR HEALTHIER SKIN. "Nothing personal," Samantha went on, apologetically. "But we thought it was something a boy of your age might carry. And it is rather remarkable." She opened the tube and squeezed some of the cream onto her finger. "Completely harmless when you touch it. But bring it into contact with metal and it's quite another story." She wiped her finger, smearing the cream onto the surface of the table. For a moment nothing happened. Then a wisp of acrid smoke twisted upward in the air, the metal sizzled, and a jagged hole appeared. "It'll do that to just about any metal," Samantha explained. "Very useful if you need to break through a lock." She took out a handkerchief from her breast pocket and wiped her finger clean.

"Anything else?" Mrs. Jensen asked.  
"Yes, Mrs. Jensen. You could say this is our _pièce de résistance_." She picked up a brightly colored box that Matt recognized at once as a Nintendo Game Boy Colour. "What teenager would be complete without one of these?" She asked. "This one comes with four games. And the beauty of it is, each cartridge turns the computer into something quite different."  
She showed Matt the first game. Armorines: Project S.W.A.R.M. "If you insert this one, the computer becomes a fax/photocopier, which gives you direct contact with us and vice versa. Just pass the screen across any page you want to transmit and we'll have it in seconds."  
She produced a second game: Air force Delta. "This one turns the computer into an X-ray device. Place the machine against any solid surface less than two inches thick and watch the screen. It has an audio function too. You just have to plug in the earphones. Useful for eavesdropping. It's not as powerful as I'd like, but we're working on it."  
The third game was called Azure Dreams. "This one's a bug finder," Samantha explained. "You can use the computer to sweep a room and check if somebody's trying to listen in on you. I suggest you use it the moment you arrive. And finally … This."  
Samantha held up a final cartridge. It was labelled _Ballistic_.  
"Do I get to play this one?" Matt asked.  
"You can play all four of them. They all have a built in games function. But as the name might suggest, this is actually a smoke bomb. This time the cartridge doesn't go into the machine. You leave it somewhere in a room and press START three times on the console, and the bomb will be set off by remote control. Useful camouflage if you need to escape in a hurry."  
"Thank you, Samantha," Mrs. Jensen said.  
"My pleasure, Mrs. Jensen." Samantha stood up, his legs extending to show how sleek and smooth they were. "I'll hope to see you again, Matt." She then bent down and whispered to matt. "Don't trust anyone in JIN 7, I don't and never will."  
She walked off and disappeared through a door that clanged shut behind her, leaving matt confused.  
Mrs. Jensen turned to Matt. "You leave tomorrow for Port Omaezaki," she said. "You'll be going under the name of Jeremy Sobokai." She handed him an envelope. "The real Jeremy Sobokai left for Florida yesterday. You'll find everything you need to know about him in here." "I'll read it in bed."  
"Good." Suddenly she was serious and Matt found himself wondering if she herself was a mother. If so, she could well have a son his age. She took out a black-and-white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close-cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dancer. The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, possibly with a hidden camera. "I want you to look at this," she said.

"I'm looking."  
"His name is Ivan Harkov. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China."  
"What does he do?" Matt asked.  
"He's a contract killer, Matt. We believe it was he who killed Mahon Ishida."  
There was a long pause. Matt had almost managed to persuade himself that this whole business was just some sort of crazy adventure … a game. But looking at the cold face with its blank, hooded eyes, he felt something stirring inside him and knew it was fear. He remembered his father's car, shattered by bullets. A man like this, a contract killer, would do the same to him. He wouldn't even blink.  
"This photograph was taken six months ago, in Cuba," Mrs. Jensen was saying. "It may have been a coincidence, but Darren warren was there at the same time. The two of them may have met. And there is something else." She paused. "Ishida used a code in the last message he sent. A single letter. I."  
"I for Ivan"  
"He must have seen Ivan somewhere. He wanted us to know…"  
"Why are you telling me this now?" Matt asked. His mouth had gone dry.  
"Because if you see him, if Ivan is anywhere near Warren Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once."  
"And then?"  
"We'll pull you out. It doesn't matter how old you are, Matt. If Ivan finds out you're working for us, he'll kill you too."**  
**She took the photograph back. Matt stood up.  
"You'll leave here tomorrow morning at eight o'clock," Mrs. Jensen said. "Be careful, Matt. and good luck."  
Matt walked across the hangar, his footsteps echoing. Behind him, Mrs. Jensen unwrapped a strawberry and cream sweet and slipped it into her mouth. Her breath always smelled faintly of strawberries and cream. As deputy head of Special Operations, how many men had she sent to their deaths? Mahon Ishida and maybe dozens more. Perhaps it was easier for her if her breath was sweet. As matt left he was still wondering what Mrs. Taylor had said to him about "Not trusting anyone". Suddenly there was a movement ahead of him and he saw that the parachutists had gotten back from their jump. They were walking toward him out of the darkness with Dragon and the other men from J Unit right at the front. Matt tried to step around them, but he found Dragon blocking his way.

"You're leaving," Dragon said. Somehow he must have heard that Matt's training was over.  
"Yeah."  
There was a long pause. "What happened on the plane…" he began.  
"Forget it, Dragon," Matt said. "Nothing happened. You jumped and I didn't. That's all."  
Dragon held out a hand. "I want you to know … I was wrong about you. You're all right. And maybe … one day it would be good to work with you."  
"You never know," Matt said. They shook.  
"Good luck, Cub."  
"Good-bye, Dragon."  
Matt walked out into the night. Dragon just hoped this wasn't the last time he would see the kid.


	10. Chironex fleckeri

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 10: _Chironex fleckeri_**

The silver grey BMW E39 M5 cruised down the freeway, travelling south. Matt was sitting in the front passenger seat with so much soft leather around him that he could barely hear the 389 horsepower, 6-liter engine that was carrying him toward the Warren complex near Port Omaezaki, Omaezaki. At eighty miles per hour, the engine was only idling. But Matt could feel the power of the car. Thirteen million Yen worth of German engineering. One touch from the unsmiling chauffeur and the BMW would leap forward. This was a car that sneered at speed limits.

Matt had been collected that morning from a converted Shrine in Shomaki, North Tomoeda. This was where Jeremy Sobokai lived. When the driver had arrived, Matt had been waiting with his luggage, and there was even a woman he had never met before—an JIN 7 operative—kissing him, telling him to brush his teeth, waving goodbye. As far as the driver was concerned, Matt was Jeremy. That morning Matt had read through the file and knew that Sobokai went to a school called St. Anthony's, had two sisters and a pet Labrador. His father was an architect. His mother designed jewellery. A happy family—his family if anybody asked.  
"How far is it to Port Omaezaki?" he asked.  
So far the driver had barely spoken a word. He answered Matt without looking at him. "A few hours. You want some music?"  
"Got any Shiria lobicka CDs?" That wasn't his choice. According to the file, Jeremy Sobokai liked John Lennon.  
"No."  
"Forget it. I'll get some sleep."

He needed the sleep. He was still exhausted from the training and wondered how he would explain all the half healed cuts and bruises if anyone saw under his shirt. Maybe he'd tell them he got bullied at school. He closed his eyes and allowed the leather to suck him into sleep.  
It was the feeling of the car slowing down that awoke him. He opened his eyes and saw a fishing village, the blue sea beyond, a swathe of rolling green hills, and a cloudless sky. It was a picture off a jigsaw puzzle, or perhaps a holiday brochure advertising a forgotten Japan. Seagulls swooped and cried overhead. An old tugboat—tangled nets, smoke, and flaking paint—pulled into the quay. A few locals, fishermen and their wives, stood around, watching. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the village was caught in the silvery light that comes at the end of a perfect spring day.

"Port Omaezaki," the driver said. He must have noticed Matt opening his eyes.  
"It's pretty."  
"Not if you're a fish."  
They drove around the edge of the village and back inland, down a lane that twisted between strangely bumpy fields. Matt saw the ruins of buildings, half-crumbling chimneys, and rusting metal wheels and knew that he was looking at an old tin mine. They'd mined tin in Cornwall for three thousand years until one day the tin had run out. Now all that was left was the holes.  
About another mile down the lane a metal fence sprang up. It was brand-new, twenty feet high, topped with razor wire. Arc lamps on scaffolding towers stood at regular intervals and there were huge signs, red on white. You could have read them from the next county:

**WARREN ENTERPRISES**

**Strictly Private**

"Trespassers will be shot," Matt muttered to himself. He remembered what Mrs. Jensen had told him. "_He's more or less formed his own private army. He's acting as if he's got something to hide_." Well, that was certainly his own first impression. The whole complex was somehow shocking, alien to the sloping hills and fields.  
The car reached the main gate, where there was a security cabin and an electronic barrier. A guard in a blue-and-gray uniform with SE printed on his jacket waved them through. The barrier lifted automatically. And then they were following a long, straight road over a stretch of land that had somehow been hammered flat with an airstrip on one side and a cluster of four high tech buildings on the other. The buildings were large, smoked glass and steel, each one joined to the next by a covered walkway. There were two aircraft next to the landing strip. A helicopter and a small cargo plane. Matt was impressed. The whole complex must have been a couple of miles square. It was quite an operation.  
The Mercedes came to a roundabout with a fountain at the centre, swept around it, and continued up toward a fantastic sprawling house. It was Victorian, redbrick topped with copper domes and spires that had long ago turned green. There must have been at least a hundred windows on five floors facing the drive. It was a house that just didn't know when to stop.  
The Mercedes pulled up in the front and the driver got out. "Follow me."  
"What about my luggage?" Matt asked.

"It'll be brought."  
Matt and the driver went through the front door and into a hall dominated by a huge canvas—_Judgment Day_, the end of the world painted four centuries ago as a swirling mass of doomed souls and demons. There were artworks everywhere. Water colours and oils, prints, drawings, sculptures in stone and bronze, all crowded together with nowhere for the eye to rest. Matt followed the driver along a carpet so thick that he almost bounced. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic and he was relieved when they passed through a door and into a vast, cathedral-like room that was practically bare.  
"Mr. Warren will be here shortly," the driver said, and left.  
Matt looked around him. This was a modern room with a curving steel desk near the centre, carefully positioned halogen lights, and a spiral staircase leading down from a perfect circle cut in the ceiling about fifteen feet high. One entire wall was covered with a single sheet of glass, and walking over to it, Matt realized that he was looking at a gigantic aquarium. The sheer size of the thing drew him toward it. It was hard to imagine how many thousands of gallons of water the glass held back, but he was surprised to see that the tank was empty. There were no fish, although it was big enough to hold a shark.  
And then something moved in the turquoise shadows and Matt gasped with a mixture of horror and wonderment as the biggest jellyfish he had ever seen drifted into view. The main body of the creature was a shimmering, pulsating mass of white and mauve, shaped roughly like a box. Beneath it, a mass of tentacles covered with circular stingers twisted in the water, at least ten feet long. As the jellyfish moved, or drifted in the artificial current, its tentacles writhed against the glass so that it looked almost as if it was trying to break out. It was the single most awesome and repulsive thing Matt had ever seen.

"_Chironex fleckeri_." The voice came from behind him and Matt twisted around to see a man coming down the last of the stairs.  
Darren Warren was short. He was so short that Matt's first impression was that he was looking at a reflection that had somehow been distorted. In his immaculate and expensive black suit with gold signet ring and brightly polished black shoes, he looked like a scaled-down model of a multimillionaire businessman. His skin was dark and his teeth flashed when he smiled. He had a round, bald head and very horrible eyes. The gray pupils were too small, surrounded on all sides by white. Matt was reminded of tadpoles before they hatch. When Warren stood next to him, the eyes were at the same level as his and held less warmth than the jellyfish.  
"A box jelly fish, also known as a sea wasp," Warren continued. He had a heavy accent brought with him from the Cairo marketplace. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"  
"I wouldn't keep one as a pet," Matt said.  
"I came upon this one when I was diving in the South China Sea." Warren gestured at a glass display case and Matt noticed three harpoon guns and a collection of knives resting in velvet slots. "I love to kill fish," Warren went on. "But when I saw this specimen of _Chironex fleckeri_, I knew I had to capture it and keep it. You see, it reminds me of myself."  
"It's ninety-nine percent water. It has no brain, no guts, and no anus." Matt had dredged up the facts from somewhere and spoken them before he knew what he was doing.  
Warren glanced briefly at him, then turned back to the creature hovering over him in its tank. "It's an outsider," he said. "It drifts on its own, ignored by the other fish. It is silent and yet it demands respect. You see the nematocysts, Mr. Sobokai? The stinging cells? If you were to find yourself wrapped in there, it would be an unforgettable death."  
"Call me Matt," Matt said.  
He'd meant to say Jeremy, but somehow it had slipped out. It was the most stupid, the most amateurish mistake he could have made. But he had been thrown by the way Warren had appeared and by the slow, hypnotic dance of the jellyfish. The grey eyes squirmed. "I thought your name was Jeremy."  
"My friends call me Matt."  
"Why?"  
"After Matt Luther. He's the manager of my favourite soccer team." It was the first thing Matt could think of. But he'd seen a soccer poster in Jeremy Sobokai's bedroom and knew that at least he'd chosen the right team. "Shabotai city," he added.  
Warren smiled. "That's most amusing. Matt it shall be. And I hope we will be friends, Matt. You are a very lucky boy. You won the competition and you are going to be the first teenager to try out my Virtual Tech. But this is also lucky, I think, for me. I want to know what you think of it! I want you to tell me what you like … what you don't." The eyes dipped away and suddenly he was businesslike. "We have only three days until the launch," he said. "We'd better get a _bliddy_ move on, as my father used to say. I'll have my man take you to our room and tomorrow morning, first thing, you must get to work. There's a math program you should try … also languages. All the software was developed here at Warren Enterprises. Of course we've talked to children. We've gone to teachers, to education experts. But you, my dear … Matt. You will be worth more to me than all of them put together."  
As he had talked, Warren had become more and more animated, carried away by his own enthusiasm. He had become a completely different man. Matt had to admit that he'd taken an immediate dislike to Darren Warren. No wonder Ooishi and the people at JIN 7 had mistrusted him! But now he was forced to think again. He was standing opposite one of the richest men in Japan, a man who had decided out of the goodness of his heart to give a huge gift to English schools. Just because he as small and slimy, that didn't necessarily make him an enemy. Perhaps Ooishi was wrong after all.  
"Ah! Here's my man now," Warren said. "And about _bliddy_ time!"  
The door had opened and a man had come in, dressed in the black suit and tails of an old-fashioned butler. He was as tall and thin as his master was short and round, with a thatch of close-cropped ginger hair on top of a face that was so pale it was almost paper white from a distance it had looked as if he was smiling, but as he drew closer, Matt gasped. The man had two horrendous scars, one on each side of his mouth, twisting up all the way to his ears. It was as if someone had at some time attempted to cut his face in half. The scars were a gruesome shade of mauve. There were smaller, fainter scars where at one time his cheeks had been stitched.  
"This is Mr. Scar," Warren said. "He changed his name after his accident."  
"Accident?" Matt found it hard not to stare at the terrible wound.  
"Mr. Scar used to work in a circus. It was a novelty knife-throwing act. For the climax he used to catch a spinning knife between his teeth. But then one night his elderly mother came to see the show. She waved to him from the front row and he got his timing wrong. He's worked for me now for a dozen years and although his appearance may be displeasing, he is loyal and efficient. Don't try to talk to him, by the way. He has no tongue."

"Eeeurgh!" Mr. Scar said.

"Nice to meet you," Matt muttered.

"Take him to the blue room," Warren commanded. He turned to Matt. "You're fortunate that one of our nicest rooms has come up free—here, in the house. We had a security man staying there. But he left us quite suddenly."  
"Oh? Why was that?" Matt asked, casually.

"I have no idea. One moment he was here, the next he was gone." Warren smiled again. "I hope you won't do the same, Matt."

"Thi … wurgh!" Mr. Scar gestured at the door, and leaving Darren Warren standing in front of his huge captive, Matt left the room.  
He was led back along a passage, past more works of art, up a staircase, and then along a wide corridor with thick wood-panelled doors and chandeliers. Matt assumed that the main house was used for entertaining. Warren himself must live here. But the computers would be constructed in the modern buildings he had seen opposite the airstrip. Presumably he would be taken there tomorrow. His room was at the far end. It was a large room with a four-poster bed and a window looking out onto the fountain. Darkness had fallen and the water, cascading ten feet into the air over a semi-naked statue that looked remarkably like Darren Warren, was eerily illuminated by a dozen concealed lights. Next to the window was a table with an evening meal already laid out for him: ham, cheese, salad. His luggage was lying on the bed.  
He went over to his case—a Nike sports bag—and examined it. When he had closed it up, he had inserted three hairs into the zip, trapping them in the metal teeth. They were no longer there. Matt opened the case and went through it. Everything was exactly as it had been when he had packed, but he was certain that the sports bag had been expertly and methodically searched.

He took out the Color Game Boy, inserted the Azure Dreams cartridge, and pressed the start button. At once the screen lit up with a green rectangle, the same shape as the room. He lifted the Game Boy up and swung it around him, following the line of the walls. A red flashing dot suddenly appeared on the screen. He walked forward, holding the Game Boy in front of him.  
The dot flashed faster, more intensely. He had reached a picture, hanging next to the bathroom, a squiggle of colours that looked suspiciously like a Picasso. He put the Game Boy down, and being careful not to make a sound, lifted the canvas off the wall. The bug was taped behind it, a black disk about the size of a 500 yen. Matt looked at it for a minute wondering why it was there. Security? Or was Warren such a control freak that he had to know what his guests were doing, every minute of the day and night?  
Matt lifted the picture and gently lowered it back into place. There was only one bug in the room. The bathroom was clean.  
He ate his dinner, showered, and went to bed. As he passed the window, he noticed activity in the grounds near the fountains. There were lights coming out of the modern buildings. Three men, all dressed in white overalls, were driving toward the house in an open-top jeep. Two more men walked past. These were security guards, dressed in the same uniforms as the men at the gate. They were both carrying semiautomatic machine guns. Not just a private army but a well-armed one.  
He got into bed. The last person who had slept here had been his uncle, Mahon Ishida. Had he seen something, looking out of the window? Had he heard something? What could have happened that meant he had to die? Sleep took a long time coming to the dead man's bed.


	11. Trouble around every corner

**Agent Matt**

Chapter 11**: **Trouble around every corner

Matt saw it the moment he opened his eyes. It would have been obvious to anyone who slept in the bed, but, of course, nobody had slept there since Mahon Ishida had been killed. It was a triangle of white paper slipped into a fold in the canopy above the four-poster bed. You had to be lying on your back to see it—like Matt was now.

It was out of his reach. He had to balance a chair on the mattress and then stand on the chair to reach it. Wobbling, almost falling, he finally managed to trap it between his fingers and pull it out. It was a square of paper, folded twice. Someone had written a code on it, it almost looked like a reference number:

**56 TBW SC 49.1 P.221**

There wasn't very much of it, but Matt recognized Mahon Ishida's handwriting. What did it mean? He pulled on some clothes, went over to the table, and took out a sheet of plain paper. Quickly, he wrote a brief message in block capitals:

**FOUND THIS IN MAHON ISHIDAS ROOM. CAN YOU MAKE ANY SENSE OF IT?  
**

Then he found his Game Boy, inserted the Armorines: Project S.W.A.R.M cartridge into the back, turned it on, and passed the screen over the two sheets of paper, scanning first his message and then the design. Instantaneously, he knew, a machine would have clicked on in Mrs. Jones's office in London and a copy of the two pages would have scrolled out of the back. Maybe she could work it out. She was, after all, meant to work for Intelligence. Finally, Matt turned off the machine, then removed the back and hid the folded paper in the battery compartment. The diagram had to be important. Mahon Ishida had hidden it. Maybe it was what had cost him his life.

There was a knock at the door. Matt went over and opened it. Mr. Scar was standing outside, still wearing his butler costume.  
"Good morning," Matt said.  
"Geurgh!" Mr. Scar gestured and Matt followed him back down the corridor and out of the house. He felt relieved to be out in the air, away from all the oppressive artworks. As they paused in front of the fountains there was a sudden roar and a propeller-driven cargo plane dipped down over the roof of the house and landed on the runway.  
"If gring gly," Mr. Scar explained.  
"Just what I thought," Matt said.  
They reached the first of the modern buildings and Mr. Scar pressed his hand against a glass plate next to the door. There was a green glow as his fingerprints were read, and a moment later, the door slid soundlessly open.  
Everything was different on the other side of the door. From the art and elegance of the main house, Matt could have stepped into the next century. Long white corridors with metallic floors. Halogen lights. The unnatural chill of air-conditioning. Another world.  
A woman was waiting for them, broad- shouldered and severe, her blond hair twisted into the tightest of buns. She had a strangely blank, moon-shaped face, wire-framed spectacles, and no makeup apart from a smear of yellow lipstick. She wore a white coat with a name tag pinned to the top pocket. It read: ALARICA.

"You must be Jeremy," she said. "Or is it now, I understand, Matt? Yes! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fraulein Alarica." She had a thick German accent. "You may call me Aili." She glanced at Mr. Scar. "I will take him from here."  
Mr. Scar nodded and left the building.  
"This way." Alarica began to walk. "We have four blocks here. Block A, where we are now, is administration and recreation. Block B is software development. Block C is research and storage. Block D is where the main V Tech assembly line is found."  
"Where's breakfast?" Matt asked.  
"You have not eaten? I will send you a sandwich. Herr Warren is very keen for you to begin at once with the experience." She walked like a soldier—straight back, her feet, in tight black leather shoes, rapping against the floor. Matt followed her through another door and into a bare square room with a chair and a desk and, on the desk, the first V Tech he had ever seen.  
It was a beautiful machine. IMac might have been the first computer with a real sense of design, but the V Tech had far surpassed it. It was black apart from the white V with a lightning bolt down the middle—and the screen could have been a porthole into outer space. Matt sat behind the desk and turned it on. The computer booted itself instantly. A second fork of animated lightning sliced across the screen, there was a swirl of clouds, and then in burning red the letters WE, the logo of Warren Enterprises. Seconds later, the desktop appeared with icons for math, science, French—every subject—ready for access. Even in those brief seconds, Matt could feel the speed and the power of the computer. And Darren Warren was going to put one in every school in the country! He had to admire the man. It was an incredible gift.  
"I leave you here," Fraulein Alarica said. "It is better for you, I think, to explore the V Tech on your own. Tonight you will have dinner with Herr Warren and you will tell him your feeling."  
"Yeah—I'll tell him my feeling."  
"I will have the sandwich sent in to you. But I must ask you please not leave the room. There is, you understand, the security."  
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Alarica," Matt said. The woman left. Matt opened one of the programs and for the next three hours lost himself in the state-of-the-art software of the V Tech. Even when his sandwich arrived, he ignored it, letting it curl on the plate. He would never have said that schoolwork was fun, but he had to admit that the computer made it lively. The history program brought the battle of Port Stanley to life with music and video clips. How to extract oxygen from water? The science program did it in front of his eyes. The V Tech even managed to make algebra almost bearable, which was more than Mr. Misato Katsuragi at Readington had ever done.  
The next time Matt looked at his watch it was one o'clock. He had been in the room for over four hours. He stretched and stood up. Aili Alarica had told him not to leave, but if there were any secrets to be found in Warren Enterprises, he wasn't going to find them here. He walked over to the door and was surprised to find that it opened as he approached. He went out, into the corridor. There was nobody in sight. Time to move.

Block A was administration and recreation. Matt passed a number of offices, then a blank, white-tiled cafeteria. There were about forty men and women, all in white coats and identity tags, sitting and talking animatedly over their lunches. He had chosen a good time. Nobody passed him as he continued through a Plexiglas walkway into Block B. There were computer screens everywhere, glowing in cramped offices piled high with papers and printouts. Software development.  
Through to Block C—research—past a library with endless shelves of books and CD-ROMs. Matt ducked behind a shelf as two technicians walked past, talking together. He was out-of-bounds, on his own, snooping around without any idea of what he was looking for. Trouble, probably. What else could there be to find?  
He walked softly, casually, down the corridor, heading for the last block. A murmur of voices reached him and he quickly stepped into an alcove, squatting beside a drinking fountain as two men and a woman walked past, all wearing white coats, arguing about Web servers. Overhead, he noticed a security camera swivelling toward him. He made himself as small as he could, crouching down behind the fountain. The three technicians left the room. The security camera swung away again and he darted forward, keeping well clear of the wide-angle lens.  
Had it seen him? Matt couldn't be sure, but he did know one thing. He was running out of time. Maybe the Alarica woman would have checked up on him already. Maybe someone would have brought lunch to the empty room. If he was going to find anything, it would have to be soon.

He started along the glass passage that joined Block C to Block D and here at last there was something different. The corridor was split in half with a metal stair case leading down into what must be some sort of basement. And although every building and every door he had seen so far had been labelled, this staircase was blank. The light stopped about halfway down. It was almost as if the stairs were trying not to get themselves noticed.  
The clang of feet on metal. Matt backtracked to the first door he could find. Fortunately, it opened into a storage closet. He hid inside, watching through the rack as Mr. Scar appeared, rising out of the ground like a vampire on a bad day. As the sun hit his dead white face, his scars twitched and he blinked several times before walking off into Block D.  
What had he been doing? Where did the stairs go?  
Matt slipped off his shoes and, carrying them in his hand, hurried down. His feet made no sound on the metal steps. It was like stepping into a morgue. The air-conditioning was so strong that he could feel it on his forehead and on the palms of his hands, fast-freezing his sweat.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and put his shoes back on. He was in another long passageway, stretching back under the complex, the way he had come. It led to a single metal door. But there was something very strange. The walls of the passage were unfinished dark brown rock with streaks of what looked zinc or some other metal. The floor was also rough and the way was lit by old-fashioned bulbs, hanging on wires. It all reminded him of something … something he had very recently seen. But he couldn't remember what.  
Somehow Matt knew that the door at the end of the passage would be locked. It looked as if it had been locked forever. Like the stairs it was unlabeled. And it seemed somehow too small to be important. But Mr. Scar had just come up the stairs. There was only one place he could have come from and that was the other side. The door had to go somewhere!  
He reached it and tried the handle. It wouldn't move. He pressed his ear against the metal and listened. Nothing, unless … was he imagining it? … a sort of throbbing. A pump or something like it. Matt would have given anything to see through the metal. And suddenly he realized that he could—the Game Boy was in his pocket. So were the four cartridges. He took out the one called Air force Delta X. X for X ray, he reminded himself. Now … how did it work? He flicked it on and held it flat against the door, the screen facing him.  
To his amazement, the screen flickered into life; a tiny, almost opaque window through the metal door. Matt was looking into a large room. There was something tall and barrel shaped in the middle of it. And there were people. Ghostlike, mere smudges on the computer screen, they were moving back and forth. Some of them were carrying objects—flat and rectangular. Trays of some sort? There seemed to be a desk to one side, piled with apparatus that he couldn't make out. Matt pressed the brightness control, trying to zoom in. But the room was too big. Everything was too far away.

But Samantha had also built an audio function into the machine. Matt fumbled in his pocket and took out the set of earphones. Still holding the Game Boy against the door, he pressed the wire into the socket and slipped the earphones over his head. If he couldn't see, at least he might be able to hear, and sure enough the voices came through, faint and disconnected—but audible through the powerful speaker system built into the machine.  
"…place. We have twenty-four hours."  
"It's not enough."  
"It's all we have. They come in tonight. At o'two hundred."  
Matt didn't recognize any of the voices. Amplified by the tiny machine, they sounded like a telephone call from abroad on a very bad line.  
"…Scar … overseeing the delivery."  
"It's still not enough time."And then they were gone. Matt tried to piece together what he had heard. Something was being delivered. Two hours after midnight. Mr. Scar was arranging the delivery. But what? Why?  
He had just turned off the Game Boy and put it back into his pocket when he heard the scrunch of gravel behind him that told him he was no longer alone. He turned around and found himself facing Aili Alarica. Matt realized that she had tried to sneak up on him. She had known he was down here.

"What are you doing, Matt?" she asked. Her voice was poisoned honey.  
"Nothing," Matt said.  
"I asked you to stay in your room."  
"Yes. But I'd been there all day. I needed a break."  
"And you came down here?"  
"I saw the stairs. I thought, they might lead to the toilet."There was a long silence. Behind him, Matt could still hear—or feel—the throbbing from the secret room. Then the woman nodded as if she had decided to accept his story.

"There is nothing down here," she said. "This door leads only to the generator room. Please…" She gestured. "I will take you back to the main house and later you must prepare for dinner with Herr Warren. He wishes to know your first impressions of the V Tech."  
Matt walked past her and back up the stairs. He was certain of two things. The first was that Aili Alarica was lying. This was no generator room. She was hiding something—from him and perhaps also from Darren Warren. And she hadn't believed him either. One of the cameras must have spotted him and she had been sent here to find him. So she knew that he was lying to her.  
Not a good start.  
Matt reached the staircase and climbed up into the light, feeling the woman's eyes, like daggers, stabbing into his back.


	12. In The Shadow of The D Moon

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 12: In The Shadow Of The D Moon**

Darren Warren was playing snooker when Matt was shown back into the room with the jellyfish. It was hard to say quite where the heavy wooden snooker table had come from, but Matt couldn't avoid the feeling that the little man looked slightly ridiculous, almost lost at the far end of the green baize. Mr. Scar was with him, carrying a footstool, which Warren stood on for each shot. "Ah ... good evening, Jeremy. Or, of course, I mean Matt!" Warren exclaimed. "Do you play snooker?"

"Occasionally."

"How would you like to play against me?" He gestured at the table. "There are only two red balls Left, then the colours. I'm sure you know the rules. The black ball is worth seven points, the pink six, and so on. But I'm willing to bet that you don't manage to score at all."

"How much?"

"Ha ha!" Warren laughed. "Suppose I were to bet you hundred yen a ball?"

"As much as that?" Matt looked surprised.

"To a man like myself, hundred yen is nothing. Nothing! Why, I could quite happily bet you thousand yen a point!"

"Then why don't you?" The words were softly spoken, but they were still a direct challenge. Warren gazed thoughtfully at Matt.

"Very well," he said "A thousand yen a point, why not? I like a gamble, my father was a gambling man."

"I thought he was a Designer."

"Who told you that?" Silently, Matt cursed himself. Why wasn't he more careful when he was with this man?

"I read it in a paper," he said. "My dad got me some stuff to read about you when I won the competition."

"Very well, let's get on with it." Warren decided to take the first shot without asking Matt. He hit the cue ball, sending one of the reds straight into the middle pocket. "That's a thousand hours you owe me. I think I'll get you started cleaning the toilets . . ." The jellyfish floated past as if watching the game from its tank. Mr. Scar picked up the footstool and moved it around the table. Warren laughed briefly and followed the butler around, already sizing up the next shot, a fairly tricky black into the corner. Seven points if he got it in. Seven thousand hours more work! "So what does your father do?" Warren asked. Matt quickly remembered what he had read about Jeremy Sobokai's family.

"He's an architect," he said.

"Oh yes? What's he designed?" The question was casual, but Matt wondered if he was being tested.

"He was working on an office in Tokyo," Matt said. "Before that he did an art gallery in Sendai"

"Yes." Warren climbed onto the footstool and aimed. The black ball missed the corner pocket by a fraction of an inch, spinning back into the centre. Warren frowned. "That was your bliddy fault," he snapped at Mr. Scar.

"Warg?"

"Your shadow was on the table. Never mind! Never mind!" He turned to Matt. "You've been unlucky. None of the balls will go in. You won't make any money this time." Matt pulled a cue out of the rack and glanced at the table. Warren was right. The last red ball was too close to the cushion. But in snooker there are other ways to win points, as Matt knew only too well. There was a snooker club in Tomoeda where he and his dad, use to be a part of. They joined the team and won countless trophies for their club, this was something he hadn't mentioned to Warren. He aimed carefully at the red, then hit. Perfect.

"Nowhere near!" Warren was back at the table before the balls had even stopped rolling. But he had spoken too soon. He stared as the white ball hit the cushion and rolled behind the pink. He was trapped-snookered. It was impossible to hit the cue ball now without touching the pink. For about twenty seconds he measured up the angles, breathing through his nose. "You've had a bit of bliddy luck!" He said. "You seem to have accidentally snookered me. Now, let me see . . ." He concentrated, then hit the white, trying to curve it around. But once again he was out by less than half an inch. There was an audible click as it touched the pink.

"Foul shot," Matt said. "You touched the pink. According to the rules, that's six points to me."

"What?"

"The foul is worth six points. I was down one point, so now I'm up five points. That's five Thousand yen you owe me."

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Saliva flecked Warren's lips. He was staring at the table as if he couldn't believe what had happened. His shot had exposed the red ball. It was an easy shot into the top corner and Matt took it without hesitating.

"And another thousand makes six" he said. He moved down the table, brushing past Mr. Scar. Quickly Matt judged the angles. Yes ...He got a perfect kiss on the black, sending it into the corner with the white spinning back for a good angle on the yellow. When he dropped the yellow immediately afterward, Warren could only watch in disbelief as Matt pocketed the green, the brown, the blue, and the pink in that order and then, down the full length of the table, the black sank into its final hole.

"I make that forty thousand yen exactly," Matt said. He put down the cue. "Thank you very much." Warren's face had gone the colour of the last ball.

"Forty thousand ...! I wouldn't have gambled if I'd known you were this bliddy good," he said. He went over to the wall and pressed a button. Part of the floor slid back and the entire billiard table disappeared into it, carried down by a hydraulic lift. When the floor slid back there was no sign that it had ever been there. It was a neat trick. The toy of a man with money to burn. But Warren was no longer in a mood for games. He threw his billiard cue over to Mr. Scar, hurling it almost like a javelin. The butler's hand flicked out and caught it. "Let's eat," Warren said.

The two of them sat at opposite ends of a long glass table in the room next door while Mr. Scar served smoked salmon, then some sort of stew. Matt drank water. Warren, who had cheered up once again, had a glass of expensive red wine.

"You spent some time with the V Tech today?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And. . .?"

"It's great," Matt said, and meant it. He still found it hard to believe that this ridiculous man could have created anything so sleek and powerful.

"So what programs did you use?"

"History. Science. Math. It's hard to believe, but I actually enjoyed them."

"Do you have any criticisms?"Matt thought for a moment.

"I was surprised it didn't have three-D acceleration."

"It's not intended for games."

"Did you consider a headset and integrated microphone?"

"Of course." Warren nodded. "They'll be available as accessories. I'm sorry you've only come here for such a short time, Matt. Tomorrow we'll have to get you onto the Internet. The V Techs are all connected to a master network. That's controlled from here. It means they have twenty- four hour free access."

"That's cool."

" It s more than cool." Warren's eyes were far away, the grey pupils small, dancing. "Tomorrow we start shipping the computers out," he said. "They'll go by plane, by truck, and by boat. It will take just one day for them to reach every point of the country. And the day after, at twelve o'clock noon exactly, the prime minister honours me by pressing the start button that will bring every one of my V Techs on-line. At that moment all the schools will be united. Think of it, Matt! Thousands of School children-hundreds of thousands, in fact-sitting in front of the screens, suddenly together. North, south, east, and west. One school. One family. And then they will know me for what I am!" He picked up his glass and emptied it. "How is the goat?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The stew. The meat is goat. It was a recipe of my mother's."

"She must have been an unusual woman." Darren Warren held out his glass and Mr. Scar refilled it. He was gazing at Matt curiously. "You know," he said. "I have a strange feeling that you and I have met before."

"I don't think so."

"But, yes. Your face is familiar to me. Mr. Scar? What do you think?"

The butler stood back with the wine. His dead white face twisted around to look at Matt. "Eeeg... Raargh!" he said.

"Yes, of course. You're right!"

"Eeeg Raargh?" Matt asked.

"Mahon Ishida. The security man I mentioned. You look a lot like him. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"I don't know. I never met him." Matt could feel the danger getting closer. "You told me he got transferred to your England depot then left suddenly."

"Yes. He was sent there to keep an eye on things, but if you ask me he was never any bliddy good when he was here. Spent half his time in the village. In the port, the post office, the library. When he wasn't snooping around here, that is. Of course, that's something else you have in common. I understand Fraulein Alarica found you today. . ." Warren's pupils crawled to the front of his eyes, trying to get closer to Matt. "You were off limits."

"I got a bit lost." Matt shrugged, trying to make light of it.

"Well, I hope you don't go wandering again tonight. Security is very tight at the moment, and as you may have noticed, my men are all armed."

"I didn't think that was legal in Japan."

"We have a special license. At any rate, Matt, I would advise you to go straight to your room after dinner. And stay there. It would be inconsolable if you were accidentally shot and killed in the darkness. Although, of course, it would save me forty thousand yen."

"Actually, I think you've forgotten the cheque."

"You'll have it tomorrow. Maybe we can have lunch together. Mr. Scar will be serving up one of my grandmother's recipes."

"More goat?"

"Dog."

"You obviously had a family that loved animals."

"Only the edible ones." Warren smiled. "And now I must wish you good night."

At one-thirty in the morning, Matt's eyes blinked open and he was instantly awake.

He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly in his darkest clothes, then left the room. He was half surprised that the door was open and that the corridors seemed to be unmonitored. But this was, after all, Warren's private house and any security would have been designed to stop people coming in, not leaving. Warren had warned him not to leave the house. But the voices behind the metal door had spoken of something arriving at two o'clock. Matt had to know what it was. What could be such a big secret that it had to arrive in the middle of the night?

He found his way into the kitchen and tiptoed past a stretch of gleaming silver surfaces and an oversize fridge. Let sleeping dogs lie, he thought to himself, remembering the lunch that would be served to him tomorrow. There was a side door, fortunately with the key still in the lock. Matt turned it and let himself out. As a last minute precaution, he locked the door and kept the key. Now at least he had a way back in. It was a soft grey night with a half-moon forming a perfect D in the sky. D for what, Matt wondered. Danger? Discovery? Or disaster? Only time would tell. He took two steps forward, then froze as a searchlight directed from a tower he hadn't even seen rolled past, inches away. At the same time he became aware of voices, and two guards walked slowly across the garden, patrolling the back of the house. They were both armed and Matt remembered what Warren had said. An accidental shooting would save him forty thousand yen. And given the importance of the V Techs, would anyone care just how accidental the shooting might have been? He waited until the men had gone, then took the opposite direction, running along the side of the house, crouching low under the windows. He reached the corner and looked around. In the distance the airstrip was fit up and there were figures-more guards and technicians everywhere. One man he recognized, walking past the fountain toward a truck parked next to a couple of cars. He was tall and gangly, silhouetted against the lights, a black cut-out. But Matt would have known Mr. Scar anywhere.

"They come in tonight. At o'two hundred." Shadows within the D moon. And Mr. Scar was on his way to meet them. The butler had almost reached the truck and Matt knew that if he waited any longer he would be too late. Throwing caution to the wind, he left the cover of the house and ran out into the open, trying to stay low and hoping his dark clothes would keep him invisible. He was only fifty yards from the truck when Mr. Scar suddenly stopped and turned around as if he had sensed there was someone there. There was nowhere for Matt to hide. He did the only thing he could and threw himself flat on the ground, burying his face in the grass. He counted slowly to five, then looked up. Mr. Scar was turning once again. A second figure had appeared Aili Alarica. It seemed she would be driving. She muttered something as she climbed into the front. Mr. Scar grunted and nodded. By the time Mr. Scar had walked around to the passenger door, Matt was once again up and running. He reached the back of the truck just as it began to move. It was similar to the trucks that he had seen at the SAT camp, it could have been army surplus. The back was tall and square, with a tarpaulin hanging loose to conceal whatever might be inside. Matt clambered onto the moving tailgate and threw himself in. The truck was empty-and he was only just in time. Even as he hit the floor, one of the cars started up behind him, flooding the back of the truck with its headlights. If he had waited even a few seconds more, he would have been seen. In all, a convoy of five vehicles left Warren Enterprises. The truck Matt was in was the last but one. In addition to Mr. Scar and Aili Alarica, at least a dozen uniformed guards were making the journey. But where to? Matt didn't dare look out the back, not with a car right behind him.

He felt the truck slow down as they reached the main gate and then they were out on the main road, driving rapidly uphill, away from the village. Matt felt the journey without seeing it. He was lying on a wooden floor, about ten feet across, with nothing to hold on to as the truck sped around hairpin bends. The walls of the truck were steel and windowless. He only knew they had left the main road when he suddenly found himself being bounced up and down, and he was grateful that the truck was now moving more slowly. He sensed they were going downhill, following a rough track. And now he could hear something, even over the noise of the engine. Waves. They had come down to the sea. The truck stopped. There was the opening and slamming of car doors, the scrunch of boots on rocks, low voices talking. Matt crouched down, afraid that one of the guards would throw back the tarpaulin and discover him, but the voices faded and he found himself alone. Cautiously, he slipped out the back. He was right. The convoy had parked on a deserted beach. Looking around, he could see a track leading down from the road that twisted up over the cliffs that surrounded them. Mr. Scar and the others had gathered beside an old stone jetty that stretched out into the black water. He was carrying a flashlight. Matt saw him swing it in an arc. Growing ever more curious, he crept forward and found a hiding place behind a clump of boulders. It seemed that they were waiting for a boat. He looked at his watch. It was exactly two o'clock. He almost wanted to laugh. Give the men flintlock pistols and horses and they could have come straight out of a children's book. Smuggling on the Japanese coast. Could that be what this was all about? Cocaine or marijuana coming in from the Continent? Why else come here in the middle of the night? The question was answered a few seconds later. Matt stared, unable to quite believe what he was seeing.

A submarine. It had emerged from the sea with the speed and the impossibility of a huge stage illusion. One moment there was nothing and then it was there in front of him, plowing through the sea toward the jetty, its engine making no sound, water streaking off its silver casing and churning white behind it. The sub marine had no markings, but Matt knew what it was. It was a **Chinese** **Type 093/09III ****Shang**** class.** The shape of the diving plane slashing horizontally through the conning tower and the shark's tail rudder at the back was like nothing he had ever seen. He wondered if it was nuclear powered. A conventional engine would surely have made more noise. And what was it doing here, off the coast of Omaezaki? Not for the first time, Matt felt very small and very young. Whatever was going on here, he knew he was way out of his depth. And then the tower opened and a man climbed out, stretching himself in the cold morning air. Even without the half-moon, Matt would have recognized the sleek dancer's body and the close-cropped hair of the man whose photograph he had seen only a few days before. It was Ivan Harkov. Matt stared at him with growing fear. This was the contract killer Mrs. Jensen had told him about. The man who had murdered Mahon Ishida. He was dressed in grey overalls and sneakers. He was smiling. He was the last person Matt wanted to meet. At the same time he forced himself to stay where he was. He had to work this out. Ivan Harkov had supposedly met Warren in Cuba. Now here he was in Omaezaki. So the two of them were working together. But why? Why should the V Tech project possibly need a man like him? Aili Alarica walked to the end of the jetty and Ivan climbed down to join her. They spoke for a few minutes, but even assuming they had chosen the same language to speak in, there was no chance of them being overheard.

Meanwhile, the guards from Warren Enterprises had formed a line stretching back almost to the point where the vehicles were parked. Ivan gave an order and, as Matt watched from behind the rocks, a metallic silver box with a vacuum seal appeared, held by unseen hands, at the top of the submarine's tower. Ivan himself passed it down to the first of the guards, who then passed it back up the line. About forty more boxes followed, one after another. It took almost an hour to unload the submarine. The men handled the boxes carefully. They obviously didn't want to break whatever was inside. By the end of the hour they were almost finished. The boxes were being repacked now into the back of the truck that Matt had vacated. And that was when it happened. One of the men, standing on the jetty, dropped one of the boxes. He managed to catch it again at the last minute, but even so it banged down heavily on the stone surface. Everyone stopped. Instantly. It was as if a switch had been thrown and Matt could almost feel the raw fear in the air. Ivan was the first to recover. He darted forward along the jetty, moving like a cat, his feet making no sound. He reached the box and ran his hands over it, checking the seal, then nodded slowly. The metal wasn't even dented. With everyone so still, Matt heard the exchange that followed.

"I'm sorry," the guard said. "I won't do that again."

"No. You won't," Ivan agreed, and shot him. The bullet spat out of his hand, red in the darkness. It hit the man in the chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel. The man fell into the sea. For a few seconds he looked up at the moon as if trying to admire it one last time and for him the D moon stood for death. Then the black water folded over him.

It took them another twenty minutes to finish loading the truck. Ivan got into the front seat with Aili Alarica. This time Mr. Scar went in one of the cars. Matt had to time his return carefully. As the truck picked up speed, rumbling back up toward the road, he left the cover of the rocks, ran forward and pulled himself in. There was hardly any room with all the boxes, but he managed to find a hole and squeezed himself into it. He ran a hand over one of the boxes. It was about the size of a toaster oven, unmarked, and cold to the touch. Close up, it looked like the sort of thing you might take on a high-tech picnic. He tried to find a way to open it, but it was locked in a way he didn't understand. He looked back out of the truck. The beach and the jetty were already far below them. The submarine was pulling out to sea. One moment it was there, sleek and silver, gliding through the water. The next it had sunk below the surface, disappearing as quickly as a bad dream.


	13. Blood in the long grass

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 13: Blood in the Long Grass**

Matt was woken up by an indignant Aili Alarica, knocking at his door. He had overslept.

"This morning it is your last opportunity to experience the V Tech," she said.

"Right," Matt replied.

"This afternoon we begin to send the computers out to the schools. Herr Warren has suggested that you take the afternoon for leisure. A walk perhaps into Port Omaezaki? There is a footpath that goes through the fields and then by the sea. You will do that, _Ja_?"

"JA, I mean Yes, I'd like that."

"Good and now I leave you to put on some clothing I will come back for you in ... _Zehn__ minuten_."

Matt splashed cold water on his face before getting dressed. It had been four o'clock by the time he had gotten back to his room and he was still tired. His night expedition hadn't been quite the success he'd hoped. He had seen so much-the submarine, the silver boxes, and the death of the guard who had dared to drop one and yet in the end he still hadn't learned much of anything. Ivan Harkov was working for Darren Warren. That much was certain. But what about the boxes? They could have contained packed lunches for the staff of Warren Enterprises for all he knew. Except that you don't kill a man for dropping a packed lunch. Today was 31st march. Yesterday was matt's 15th birthday, but Jeremy's wasn't for another month, on top his wish list was a V Tech, on top of matt's however was to be over and done with this mission and go back to his semi normal life. As Alarica had said, the computers were on their way out. There was only one day to go until the ceremony at the Science Museum. But Matt had nothing to report, and the one piece of information that he had sent-Mahon Ishida's code-had also drawn a blank. There had been a reply waiting for him on the screen of his Game Boy when he turned it on before going to bed.

**UNABLE TO RECOGNIZE CODE, LETTERS OR NUMBERS. POSSIBLE MAP REFERENCE BUT, UNABLE TO SOURCE MAP. PLEASE TRANSMIT FURTHER OBSERVATIONS.**

Matt had thought of transmitting the fact that he had actually sighted Ivan Harkov. But he had decided against it. If Ivan was there, Mrs. Jensen had promised to pull him out. And suddenly Matt wanted to see this through to the end. Something was going on at Warren Enterprises. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't find out what it was. Aili Alarica came back for him as promised, and he spent the next three hours toying with the V Tech. This time he enjoyed himself less. And this time he noticed when he went to the door, a guard had been posted in the corridor outside. It seemed that Warren Enterprises wasn't taking any more chances where he was concerned. One o'clock arrived and with it a sandwich, delivered on a paper plate. Ten minutes later the guard released him from the room and escorted him as far as the main gate. It was a glorious afternoon, the sun shining as he walked out onto the road. He took a last look back. Mr. Scar had just come out of one of the buildings and was standing some distance away, talking into a mobile telephone. There was something unnerving about the sight. Why should he be making a telephone call now? And who could possibly understand a word he said? It was only once he'd left the plant that Matt was able to relax. Away from the fences, the armed guards, and the strange sense of threat that pervaded Warren Enterprises, it was as if he were breathing fresh air for the first time in days. The Japanese countryside was beautiful, the rolling hills, a lush green, dotted with wildflowers. He found the footpath sign and turned off the road. From the lay of the land, and remembering the car journey that had first brought him here, he guessed that Port Omaezaki was a couple of miles away, a walk of less than an hour if the route wasn't too hilly. In fact, the path climbed upward quite steeply almost at once, and suddenly Matt found himself perched over a clear, blue, and sparkling ocean, following a track that zigzagged precariously along the edge of a cliff.

To one side of him, the fields stretched into the distance with, the long grass bending in the breeze. To the other, there was a fall of at least five hundred feet to the rocks and, the water below. Port Omaezaki itself was at the very end of the cliffs, tucked in against the sea. It looked almost too quaint from here, like a model in a black-and-white Hollywood film. He came to a break in the path with a second, much tougher track leading away from the sea and across the fields. His instincts would have told him to go straight ahead, but a footpath sign pointed to the right. There was something strange about the sign. Matt hesitated for a moment, wondering what it was. Then he dismissed it. He was walking in the countryside and the sun was shining. What could possibly be wrong? He followed the sign. The path continued rising and falling for about another quarter of a mile, then dipped down into a hollow. Here the grass was almost as tall as he was, rising up all around him, a shimmering green cage. A bird suddenly erupted in front of him, a ball of brown feathers that spun around on itself before taking flight. Something had disturbed it. And that was when Matt heard the sound, an engine getting closer. A tractor? No. It was too high-pitched and moving too fast. Matt knew he was in danger the same way an animal does. There was no need to ask why or how. Danger was simply there. And even as the dark shape appeared, crashing through the grass, he was throwing himself to one side, knowing-too late now-what it was that had been wrong about the second footpath sign. It had been brand-new. But the first sign, the one that had led him off the road, had been weather-beaten and old.

Someone had deliberately led him away from the correct path and brought him here. To the killing field. He hit the ground and rolled to one side. The vehicle burst through the grass, its front wheel just inches above his head. Matt caught a glimpse of a squat black thing with four fat tires, a cross between a miniature tractor and a motorbike. It was being ridden by a hunched-up figure in grey leather with helmet and goggles. Then it was gone, thudding down in the grass on the other side of him and disappearing instantly as if a curtain had been drawn.

Matt scrambled to his feet and began to run. He knew what it was now. He'd seen something similar on holiday, in the sand dunes of Death Valley, Nevada.

A Kawasaki KLF300 four by four, powered by a 400cc engine with automatic transmission. A quad bike. It was circling now, preparing to come after him. And it wasn't alone. A drone, then a scream, and then a second bike appeared in front of him, roaring toward him, cutting a swath through the grass. Matt hurled himself out of its path, once again crashing into the ground, almost dislocating his shoulder. Wind and engine fumes whipped across his face. He had to find somewhere to hide. But he was in the middle of a field and there was nowhere apart from the grass itself. Desperately, he fought through it, the blades scratching at his face, half blinding him as he tried to find his way back to the main path. He needed to find someone-anyone. Whoever had sent these people (and now he remembered Mr. Scar, talking on his mobile phone), they couldn't kill him if there were witnesses around. But there was no one and they were coming for him again ... together this time. Matt could hear the engines, whining in unison, coming up fast behind him. Still running, he glanced over his shoulder and saw them, one on each side, seemingly about to overtake him. It was only the glint of the sun and the sight of the grass slicing itself in half that revealed the horrible truth. The two cyclists had stretched a length of cheese wire between them. Matt threw himself headfirst, flat on his stomach. The cheese wire whipped over him. If he had still been standing up, it would have cut him in half. The quad bikes separated, arcing away from each other. At least that meant that they must have dropped the wire. Matt had bruised his knee in the last fall and he knew that it was only a matter of time before they cornered him and finished him off. Half limping, he ran forward, searching for somewhere to hide or something to defend himself with. Apart from the Game Boy and some money, he had nothing in his pockets, not even a penknife. The engines were distant now, but he knew that any moment they would be closing in again. What would the riders have in store for him next time? More cheese wire? Or something worse?

It was worse. Much worse. There was the roar of an engine and then a billowing cloud of red fire exploded over the grass, blazing it to a crisp. Matt felt it singe his shoulders, yelled, and threw himself to one side. One of the riders was carrying a flamethrower! He had just aimed a bolt of fire twenty feet long, meaning to burn Matt alive. And he had almost succeeded. Matt was saved only by a narrow ditch in front of him. He hadn't even seen it until he had thudded into the ground, into, the damp soil the jet of flame licking at the air just above him. It had been close. There was a horrible smell: his own hair. The fire had singed the ends. Choking, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, he clambered out of the ditch and ran blindly forward. He had no idea where he was going anymore. He only knew that in a few seconds the quad would be back. But he had taken only ten paces before he realized he had reached the edge of the field. There was a warning sign and an electrified fence stretching as far as he could see. But for the buzzing sound that the fence was making, he would have run right into it. The fence was almost invisible, and the quad bikers, moving fast toward him, would be unable to hear the warning sound over their own engines...

He stopped and turned around. About fifty yards away from him, the grass was being flattened by the still invisible quad as it made its next charge. But this time Matt waited. He stood there, balancing on the heels of his feet, like a matador. Twenty yards, ten ... Now he was staring straight into the eyes of the rider, saw the man's uneven teeth as he smiled, still gripping the flamethrower. The quad smashed down the last barrier of grass and leaped onto him ... except that Matt was no longer there. He had dived to one side and, too late, the driver saw the fence and rocketed on, straight into it. The man screamed as the wire caught him around the neck, almost garrotting him. The bike twisted in midair, then crashed down. The man fell into the grass and lay still. He had torn the fence out of the ground. Matt ran over to the man and examined him. For a moment he thought it might be Ivan, but it was a younger man, dark haired, ugly. Matt had never seen him before. The man was unconscious but still breathing. The flamethrower lay extinguished on the ground beside him. Behind him, he heard the other bike, some distance away but closing. Whoever these people were, they had tried to run him down, to cut him in half, and to incinerate him. He had to find a way out before they really got serious.

He ran over to the abandoned quad, which had come to rest lying on its side. He heaved it up again, jumped onto the saddle, and kick started it. Or tried to. His foot scrabbled desperately but couldn't find anything to kick. Matt cursed. He might have seen quad bikes in Nevada, but he hadn't been allowed to ride one. He was too young. And now ...How did you get the damn thing started? There was nothing to kick. So there had to be some sort of manual ignition. He twisted the key. Nothing. Then he saw a red button right in the middle. He pressed it and the engine coughed into life. At least there were no gears to worry about. Matt twisted the accelerator and yelled out as the machine rocketed away, almost throwing him backward off the saddle. And now he was whipping through the grass, which had become a green blur, hanging on with all his strength as the quad carried him back toward the footpath. He wasn't sure if he was steering the bike or if the bike was steering him, but all he cared about was that he was still moving. His bones rattled as the quad hit a rut in the track and bounced upward. For a ghastly second Matt thought he was going to be hurled off the bike and into space. But somehow he managed to keep his grip, even though the crash of the tires hitting the ground punched out all his breath. He cut through another green curtain and savagely pulled on the handlebars, trying to bring the machine under control. He had found the footpath-and also the side of the cliff. Just five yards more and he would have launched himself over the edge and down to the rocks below. For a few seconds he sat where he was, the engine idling. That was when the other quad appeared. The second rider must have seen what had happened. He had reached the footpath and was facing Matt, about two hundred feet away. Something glinted in his hand, resting on the handlebar. He was carrying a gun.

Matt looked back the way he had come. It was no good. The path was too narrow. By the time he had turned the quad around, the man would have reached him. One shot and it would all be over. Could he go back into the grass? No, for the same reason. If he wanted to move fast, he had to move forward, even if that meant heading for a straight-on collision with the other quad. There was no other way. The man gunned his engine and spurted forward. Matt did the same. Now the two of them were racing toward each other down a narrow path with a bank of earth and rock suddenly rising up to form a barrier on one side and the edge of the cliff on the other. There wasn't enough room for them to pass. They could stop or they could crash ... but if they were going to stop they had to do it in the next ten seconds. The quads were getting closer and closer, moving faster all the time. Far below, the waves glittered silver, breaking against the rocks. The grass, higher now, flashed by. The man fired his gun twice. Matt felt the first bullet slice past his shoulder. The second ricocheted off the side of his bike, almost causing him to lose control. The wind rushed into him, hammering at his chest and face. It was like the old-fashioned game of chicken. One of them had to stop. One of them had to get out of the way. Three, two, one. . . It was the man who finally broke.

He was less than twenty feet away, so close that Matt could make out the perspiration on his forehead if he fired a third shot now, there would be no way he could miss. But he was travelling too fast. The path was too uneven. He couldn't fire and drive at the same time. Just when it seemed that a crash was inevitable, he twisted his quad and swerved off the path, up into the grass. At the same time, he tried to bring the gun around. But he was too late. His quad was slanting, tipping over onto just two of its wheels. The man screamed. His quad hit a rock and bounced upward, landed briefly on the footpath then continued over the edge of the cliff. Matt had felt the man rush past him but had seen little more than a blur. Now he shuddered to a halt am turned around just in time to watch the other quad fly off the cliff and into the air. The man, still screaming managed to separate himself from the machine on the way down, but the two of them hit the water at the same moment. The quad floated for a few seconds longer than the man. Who had sent him? It was Aili Alarica who had suggested the walk, but it was Mr. Scar who had actually seen him leave. Mr. Scar had given the order-he was sure of it. Matt took the quad the rest of the way into Port Omaezaki. The sun was still shining as he sped down into the little fishing village, but he couldn't enjoy it. He was angry with himself because he knew he'd made too many mistakes. He should have been dead now, he knew. Only luck and a low voltage electric fence had managed to keep him alive. He needed answers and the only place to go was port Omaezaki.


	14. Miner Problem

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 14: Miner Problem**

Matt walked through Port Omaezaki, past the Fisherman's Anchor tavern and up the cobbled street toward the library. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the village seemed to be asleep, the boats bobbing in the harbour, the streets and pavements empty. A few seagulls wheeled lazily over the rooftops, uttering the usual mournful cries. The air smelled of salt and dead fish. The library was redbrick, Victorian, sitting self-importantly at the top of a hill. Matt pushed open the heavy swing door and went into a room with a tiled chessboard floor and about fifty shelves fanning out from a central reception area. Six or seven people were sitting at tables, working. A man in a thickly knitted jersey was reading Fisherman's Week. Matt went over to the reception. There was the inevitable sign-SILENCE PLEASE. Beneath it an elderly, round-faced woman sat reading Crime and Punishment.

"Can I help you, deary?" Despite the sign, she had such a loud voice that everyone looked up when she spoke.

"Yes ..." he whispered. Matt had come here because of a chance remark made by Darren Warren. He had been talking about Mahon Ishida.

"Spent half his time in the village. In the port, the post office, the library." Matt had already seen the post office, another old-fashioned building near the port. He didn't think he'd learn anything there. But the library? Maybe his dad had come here looking for information. Maybe the librarian would remember him.

"I had a friend staying in the village," he said. "I was wondering if he came here. His name's Mahon Ishida."

"Ishida...Ishida? I don't think we have any Ishida's at all." The woman tapped a few keys on her computer, then shook her head. "No . . ."

"He was staying at Warren Enterprises," Matt said. "He was about forty, thin, fair haired. Probably wearing a security uniform..."

"Oh yes." The librarian smiled. "He did come here a couple of times. A nice man. Very polite. I knew he didn't come from around here. He was looking for a book. . ."

"Do you remember what book?"

"Of course I do. I can't always remember faces, but I never forget a book. He was interested in viruses."

"Viruses?"

"Yes. That's what I said. He wanted information. . ." A computer virus! This might change everything. A computer virus was the perfect piece of sabotage: invisible and instantaneous. A single blip written into the software and every single piece of information in the V Tech software could be destroyed at any time. But Darren Warren couldn't possibly want to damage his own creation. That would make no sense at all. So maybe Matt had been wrong about him from the very start. Maybe Warren had no idea what was really going on.

"I'm afraid I couldn't help him," the librarian continued. "This is only a small library and our grant's been cut for the third year running." She sighed. "Anyway, he said he'd get some books sent down from Tomoeda. He told me he had a box at the post office . . ."That made sense too. Mahon Ishida wouldn't want information sent to Warren Enterprises, where it could be intercepted.

"Was that the last time you saw him?" Matt asked.

"No. He came back about a week later. He must have gotten what he wanted because this time he wasn't looking for books about viruses. He was interested in local affairs."

"What sort of local affairs?"

"Omaezaki local history. Section C." She pointed. "He spent an afternoon looking in one of the books and then he left. He hasn't been back since then, which is a shame. I was rather hoping he'd join the library. Would you like to?"

"Not today, thanks," Matt said. Local history. That wasn't going to help him. Matt nodded at the librarian and made for the door. His hand was just reaching out for the handle when he remembered: the address outside was 54 TomBion Way. He reached into his pocket and took out the Game Boy, pulled off the back, and unfolded the square of paper he had found in his bedroom. Sure enough, the letters and numbers were the same. 54 TBW. They weren't referring to a grid reference. 54 TBW was the address for his first clue! Matt went over to the shelf that the librarian had shown him. Books grow old faster when they're not being read and the ones gathered here were long past retirement, leaning tiredly against one another for support. SC stood for Section C, the next clue of where to look. As he looked upon the shelves he saw a number was printed on a spine of worn out book - 49.1- the book was called Shinozuoka: The Story of Omaezaki's Oldest Mine. He carried it over to a table, opened it, and quickly skimmed through it, wondering why a history of a tin mine should have been of interest to Mahon Ishida. The story it told was a familiar one. The mine had been owned by the Shinozuoka family for eleven generations. In the nineteenth century there had many mines for minerals in the whole of Japan. By the 1990s there were only three. Shinozuoka was still one of them. The price of tin had collapsed and the mine itself' was almost exhausted, but there was no other work in the area and the family had continued running it even though the mine was quickly exhausting them. In 1991, Sir Kotaro Shinozuoka, the last owner, had quietly slipped away outside his own mine and blown his brains out. He was buried in the local churchyard in a coffin, it was said, made of tin. His children had closed down the mine, selling the land above it to Warren Enterprises. The mine itself was sealed off with several of the tunnels now underwater. The book contained a number of old black-and-white photographs: pit ponies and canaries in cages. Groups of figures standing with axes and lanterns. Now all of them would be under the ground themselves. Flicking through the pages, Matt came to a page where a piece of paper was left as a bookmark, and on that page it was showing the layout of the tunnels at the time when the mine was closed: It was hard to be sure of the scale, but there was a labyrinth of shafts, tunnels, and railway lines running for miles underground. Go down into the utter blackness of the underground and you'd be lost instantly. Had Mahon Ishida made his way into Shinozuoka ? If so, what had he found? Matt remembered the corridor at the foot of the metal staircase. The dark brown unfinished walls and the light bulbs hanging on their wires had reminded him of something, and suddenly he knew what it was. The corridor must be nothing more than one of the shafts from the old mine! Suppose Mahon Ishida had also gone down the staircase. Like Matt, he had been confronted with the locked metal door and had been determined to find his way past it. But he had recognized the corridor for what it was-and that was why he had come back to the library. He had found a book on the Shinozuoka Mine-this book. The map had shown him a way to the other side of the door. And he a made a note of it! Matt took out the piece of paper, tore it half and tracing the map that Mahon Ishida had left for him. Before matt left he read the message his dad left behind. It read:

"_Dear matt, if you're reading this, then I have probably failed and you have been sent in my place. I know you being my son you've probably figured out what your old man was up too. I didn't train you to be a spy like me, I wanted to prepare you for the truth. Anyways I was going to tell you when you were older and able to understand, providing if your new step mum would allow it. I'm sorry if I have lied to you but in this business it was a job requirement. Good luck matt. Stop Darren Warren for me, sport."_ Matt nearly cried at the dead man's message, not of grief but of anger, he knew he would fail and knew matt would take his place. His whole life was a lie, Matt was certain of it. He was almost tempted to call Mrs. Jensen about Ivan but for now that didn't matter. If he could find the entrance to Shinozuoka mine, he could follow the map through to the other side of the metal door. Ten minutes later he left the library with a photocopy of the page. He went down to the harbour and found one of those maritime stores that seem to sell anything and everything. Here he bought himself a powerful flashlight, a jersey, a length of rope, and a box of chalk and a birthday card for sakura, he would send it later, if he had a later. Then he climbed back into the hills.

Back on the quad, Matt raced across the cliff tops with the sun already sinking in the west. Ahead of him he could see the single chimney and crumbling tower that he hoped would mark the entrance to the Shrandian Shaft ... it took its name from the wife of the original owner of the Shinozuoka mine. According to the map, this was where he should begin. At least the quad had made his life easier. It would have taken him an hour to reach it on foot.

He was running out of time and he knew it. The first V Tech's would have already begun leaving the plant, and in less than twenty-four hours the prime minister would be activating them. If the software really had been bugged with some sort of virus, what would happen? Some sort of humiliation for both Warren and the Japanese government? Or worse? And how did a computer bug tie in with what he had seen the night before? Whatever the submarine had been delivering on the jetty, it hadn't been computer software. The silver boxes had been too large. And you don't shoot a man for dropping a diskette. Matt parked the quad next to the tower and went in through an arched doorway. At first he thought he must have made some sort of mistake. The building looked more like a ruined church than the entrance to a mine. Other people had been here before him. There were a few crumpled beer cans and old potato chip packets on the floor and the usual graffiti on the wall. DMZ WAS HERE. JOE LUVS NIKKI. Visitors leaving the worst parts of themselves behind in fluorescent paint.

His foot came down on something that clanged and he saw that he was standing on a metal trapdoor. Grass and weeds were sprouting around the edges, but putting his hand against the crack, he could feel a draft of air rising from below. This must be the entrance to the shaft.

The trapdoor was bolted down with a heavy padlock, several inches thick. Matt swore silently. He had left the zit cream back in his room. The cream would have eaten through the bolts in seconds, but he didn't have the time to go all the way back to Warren Enterprises to get it. He knelt down and shook the padlock in frustration. To his surprise, it sprang open. Somebody had been here before him. Mahon Ishida-it had to be. He must have managed to unlock it and hadn't fully closed it again so that it would be open when he came back. Matt pulled the padlock out and grabbed the trapdoor. It took all his strength to lift it, and as he did so, a blast of cold air hit him in the face. The trapdoor clanged back and he found himself looking into a black hole that stretched farther than the daylight could reach. Matt shone his flashlight into the hole. The beam went about fifty feet, but the shaft went farther. He found a pebble and dropped it in. At least ten seconds passed before the pebble rattled against something far below. A rusty ladder ran down the side of the shaft Matt checked that the quad was out of sight, then looped the rope over his shoulder and shoved the flashlight into his belt. He didn't enjoy climbing into the hole.

The metal rungs were ice cold against his hands, and his shoulders had barely sunk beneath the level of the ground before the sun was blotted out and he felt himself being sucked into a darkness so total that he couldn't even be sure he had eyes. But he couldn't climb and hold on to the flashlight at the same time. He had to feel his way, a hand then a foot, descending farther until at last his heel struck the ground and he knew he had reached the bottom of the Shrandian Shaft. He looked up. He could just make out the entrance he had climbed through: small, round, as distant as the moon. He was breathing heavily. The air was thin and smelled faintly metallic. Trying to fight off the sense of claustrophobia, he pulled out the flashlight and flicked it on. The beam leaped out of his hand, pointing the way ahead and throwing pure white light onto his immediate surroundings. Matt was at the start of a long tunnel, the uneven walls and ceiling held back by wooden beams. The floor was already damp, and a sheen of salt water hung in the air. It was cold in the mine. He had known it would be, and before he moved, he pulled on the jersey he had bought, then chalked a large X on the wall. That had been a good idea too. Whatever happened down here, he wanted to be sure he could find the way back. At last he was ready. He took two steps forward, away from the vertical shaft and into the start of the tunnel, and immediately felt the weight of the solid rock, the soil, and the remaining streaks of tin bearing down on him. It was horrible here, like being buried alive, and it took all his strength to force himself on. After about fifty paces he came to a second tunnel, branching off to the left. He took out the photocopied map and examined it. According to Mahon Ishida, this was where he had to turn off. He swung the flashlight around and followed the tunnel, which slanted downward, taking him deeper and deeper into the earth. There was absolutely no sound in the mine apart from his own rasping breath, the crunch of his footsteps, and the quickening thud of his heart. It was as if the blackness was wiping out sound as well as vision. Matt opened his mouth and called out, just to hear something. But his voice sounded small and only reminded him of the huge weight above his head. This tunnel was in bad repair. Some of the beams had snapped and fallen in, and as he passed underneath a broken beam, a trickle of gravel hit his neck and shoulders, reminding him that the Shinozuoka Mine had been kept locked for a reason. It was a hellish place. It could collapse at any time. The path took him ever deeper. He could feel the pressure pounding in his ears as the darkness grew thicker and more oppressive. He came to a tangle of iron and wire: some sort of machine, long ago buried and forgotten. He climbed over it too quickly, cutting his leg on a piece of jagged metal. He stood still for a few seconds forcing himself to slow down. He knew he mustn't panic. He forced himself to think. If you panic, you'll get lost. Think what you're doing. Be careful. One step at a time...

"Okay. Okay..." He whispered the words to reassure himself, then continued forward.

Now he emerged into a sort of wide circular chamber, formed by the meeting of six different tunnels, all coming together in a star shape. The widest of these slanted in from the left with the remains of a railway track. He swung the flashlight and saw a couple of wooden wagons that must have been used to carry equipment down or tin back up to the surface. Checking the map, he was tempted to follow the railway, which seemed to offer a shortcut across the route that Mahon Ishida had left for him to draw. But he decided against it. The map told him to turn the corner and go back on himself. There had to be a reason. Matt made another two chalk crosses, one for the tunnel he had left, another for the one he was entering. He went on. This new tunnel quickly became lower and narrower until Matt couldn't walk unless he crouched. The floor was very wet here, with pools of water rising up to his ankles. He remembered how near he was to the sea and that brought another unpleasant thought. What time was high tide? And when the water rose, what would happen inside the mine? Matt suddenly had a vision of himself trapped in blackness with water rising up to his chest, his neck, over his face. He stopped and forced himself to think of something else. Down here, on his own, far beneath the surface of the earth, he couldn't make an enemy of his imagination. The tunnel curved then joined a second railway line, this one bent and broken, covered here and there in rubble, which must have fallen from above. But the metallic tracks made it easier to move forward, picking up the reflection of the flashlight. Matt followed them all the way to a junction with the main railway. It had taken him thirty minutes and he was almost back where he had started, but shining the flashlight around him, he saw why Mahon Ishida had sent him the long way around. The shorter route had been blocked by a tunnel collapse. About thirty yards up the line, the main railway came to a dead end. He crossed the track, still following the map, and stopped. He looked at the paper, then again at the way ahead. It was impossible. And yet there was no mistake. He had come to a small, round tunnel dipping steeply down. But after a brief stretch, the tunnel simply stopped with what looked like a sheet of metal barring the way. Matt picked up a stone and threw it. There was a splash. Now he understood. The tunnel was completely submerged in water . As black as ink. The water had risen up to the ceiling of the tunnel, so even assuming he could swim in temperatures that must be close to freezing, he would be unable to breathe. After all his hard work, after all the time he had spent underground, there was no way forward.

Matt turned in frustration. He was about to leave, but even as he swung the flashlight around, the beam picked up something lying in a heap on the ground. He went over to it and leaned down. It was a diver's dry suit and it looked brand-new. Matt walked back to the water's edge and examined it with the flashlight. This time he saw something else. A rope had been tied to a rock. It slanted diagonally into the water and disappeared. Matt knew what it meant.

Mahon Ishida had swum through the submerged tunnel. He had worn a dry suit and he had managed to fix a rope to guide him through. Obviously he had planned to come back. That was why he had left the dry suit there. And why he had left the padlock open. Matt picked up the dry suit. It was too big for him, although it would probably keep out the worst of the chill.

But the cold wasn't the only problem. The tunnel might run for ten yards. It might even run for a Hundred miles. How could he be sure that Mahon hadn't used scuba equipment to swim through? If Matt went down there, into the water, and ran out of breath halfway, he would drown. Again his imagination got the better of him. He could see himself, pinned underneath the rock in the freezing blackness. He couldn't imagine a worse way to die. He stood for a moment, holding the suit in his hands. Suddenly everything seemed unfair. He had never asked to be here. He had been forced into this by JIN 7 and he'd already done more than enough. There was nothing on earth that would make him enter the blackness of the water. It was simply too much to ask. But Mahon Ishida had swum through. Mahon Ishida had done it all, on his own, and he had never stopped ... not until the day they had killed him. And Matt had always assumed he was nothing more than a financial reporter! He felt his resolve give way to anger. These people- Warren, Ivan, whoever-had snuffed out his father's life simply because it had suited them. Well, he didn't die for nothing. Matt would see to that.

He pulled on the dry suit. It was cold, clammy, and uncomfortable. He zipped it up at the front. He hadn't taken off his street clothes and that had perhaps helped. The suit was loose in places, but he was sure it would keep the water out. Moving quickly now, afraid that if he hesitated he would change his mind, Matt approached the water's edge. He reached out and took the rope in one hand. It would be faster swimming with both hands, but he didn't dare risk it. Getting lost in the underwater tunnel would be as bad as running out of air. The result would be exactly the same. He had to keep hold of the rope to allow it to guide him through. Matt took several deep breaths, hyperventilating and oxygenating his blood, knowing it would give him a few precious extra seconds. Then he plunged in. The cold was ferocious, a hammer blow that nearly forced the air out of his lungs. The water pounded at his head, swirling around his nose and eyes. His fingers were instantly numb. His whole system felt the shock but the dry suit was holding, sealing in at least some of his body warmth. Clinging to the rope, he kicked forward. He had committed himself. There could be no going back. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. Matt had been underwater for less than a minute, but already his lungs were feeling the strain. The roof of the tunnel was scraping his shoulders and he was afraid that it would tear through the dry suit and gouge into his skin as well. But he didn't dare slow down. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. The freezing cold was sucking the strength out of him. How long had he been under? Ninety seconds? A hundred? His eyes were shut tight, but if he opened them there would be no difference. He was in a black, swirling, freezing version of hell. And his breath was running out. He pulled himself forward along the rope, scratching the skin off the palms of his hands. He had been swimming for almost two minutes, but it felt closer to ten. He had to open his mouth and breathe ... even if it was water, and not air, that rushed into his throat. A silent scream exploded inside him. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. And then the rope tilted upward and he felt his shoulders come clear and his mouth was wrenched open in a great gasp as he breathed air and knew that he had just made it. But made it to where? Matt couldn't see anything. He was floating in utter darkness, unable to see even where the water ended. He had left the flashlight on the other side, and he knew that even if he wanted to, he didn't have the strength to go back. He had followed the trail left by a dead man. It was only now that he realized it might lead only to a grave. His grave.


	15. Behind the secret door

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 15: Behind the Secret Door**

Matt swam forward slowly, completely blind, afraid that at any moment he would crack his head against rock Despite the dry suit, he had long ago felt the chill of the water and knew that he had to find his way onto dry land soon. His hand brushed against something, but his fingers were too numb to tell what it was. He reached out and pulled himself forward. His feet touched the bottom. And it was then that he realized he could see. Somehow, from somewhere, light was seeping into the area beyond the submerged tunnel. Slowly, his vision adjusted itself. Waving his hand in front of his face, he could just make out his fingers. He was holding on to a wooden beam, a collapsed roof support. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. The darkness had retreated, showing him a crossroads cut into the rock, the meeting place of three tunnels. The fourth, behind him, was the one that was flooded. As vague as the light was, it gave him strength. Using the beam as a makeshift jetty, he clambered onto the rock. At the same time, he became aware of a soft throbbing sound. He couldn't be sure if it was near or far, but he remembered what he had heard under Block D, in front of the metal door, and he knew that he had arrived. He stripped off the dry suit. It had served him well. The main part of his body was dry, even though ice cold water dripped out of his hair and down his neck. His shoes and socks were sodden. When he moved forward his feet squelched and he had to take off his shoes and shake them out before he could go on. Mahon Ishida's map was still folded in his pocket, but he no longer had any need of it. All he had to do was follow the light. He went straight forward to another intersection, then turned right. The light was so bright now that he could actually make out the colour of the rock-dark brown and gray. The throbbing was also getting louder, and Matt could feel a rush of cool air streaming down toward him. He moved forward cautiously, wondering what he was about to come to. He turned a corner and suddenly the rock on both sides gave way to new brick with metal grills set at intervals just above the level of the floor.

The old mine shaft had been converted. It was being used as the outlet for some sort of air-conditioning system. The light that had guided Matt here was coming out of the grills. He knelt beside the first of these and looked through into a large white-tiled room, a laboratory with complicated glass and steel equipment laid out over work surfaces. The room was empty. Tentatively, Matt took hold of the grill, but it was firmly secured, bolted into the rock face. The second grill belonged to the same room. It was also screwed in tight. Matt continued up the tunnel to a third grill. This one looked into a storage room filled with the silver boxes that Matt had seen being delivered by the submarine the night before. He took the grill in both hands and pulled. It came away from the wall easily, and looking closer, he understood why. Once again, Mahon Ishida had been here ahead of him. He had cut through the bolts holding it in place. Matt set the grill down silently, glad that he had found the strength to go forward. Carefully, he squeezed through the rectangular hole in the wall and into the room. At the last minute, lying on his stomach with his feet dangling below, he reached for the grill and set it back in place. Provided nobody looked too closely, they wouldn't see anything wrong. The ground was a long way away, at least twice his own height, but that wasn't going to stop him now. He dropped down and landed , catlike, on the balls of his feet. The throbbing was louder, coming from somewhere outside. It would cover any noise he made. He went over to the nearest of the silver boxes and examined it. He found two catches on the lid and pressed. The box clicked open in his hands, but when he looked inside, it was empty. Whatever had been delivered was already in use. He checked for cameras, found none, and then crossed to the door. It was unlocked. He opened it, one inch at a time, and peered out. The door led onto a wide corridor with an automatic sliding door at each end and a silver rail running its full length.

"Nineteen hundred hours. Red shift to assembly line. Blue shift to decontamination."

The voice rang out over a loudspeaker system, neither male nor female; emotionless, inhuman. Matt glanced at his watch. It was already seven o'clock in the evening. It had taken him longer than he had thought to get through the mine. He stole forward. It wasn't exactly a passage that he had found. It was more an observation platform. He reached the rail and looked down. Matt hadn't had any idea what he would find behind the metal door, but what he was seeing now was far beyond anything he could have imagined. It was a huge chamber, the walls-half naked rock, half polished steel-lined with computer equipment, electronic meters, machines that blinked and flickered with a life of their own. It was staffed by forty or fifty people, some in white coats, and others in overalls, all wearing armbands of different colours: red, yellow, blue, and green. Arc lights beamed down from above. Armed guards stood at each doorway, watching the work with blank faces. For this was where the V Techs were being assembled. The computers were being slowly carried in a long, continuous line along a conveyor belt, past the various scientists and technicians. The strange thing was that they already looked finished ... and of course they had to be. Warren had told him. They were actually being shipped out during the course of the afternoon and night. So what last-minute adjustment was being made here in this secret factory? And why was so much of the production line hidden away? What Matt had seen as he crept around Warren Enterprises had only been the tip of the iceberg. The main body of the factory was here, underground. He looked more closely. He remembered the V Tech that he had used and now he noticed something that he hadn't seen then. A strip of plastic had been drawn back in the casing above each of the screens to reveal a small compartment, cylindrical and about five inches deep. The computers were passing underneath a bizarre machine-cantilevers, wires, and hydraulic arms. Opaque, silver test tubes were being fed along a narrow cage, moving forward as if to greet the computers: one tube for each computer. There was a meeting point. With infinite precision, the tubes were lifted out, brought around, and then dropped into the exposed compartments. After that, the V Techs were accelerated forward. A second machine closed and heat sealed the plastic strip. By the time the computers reached the end of the line, where they were packed into red-and-white Warren Enterprises boxes, the compartments were completely invisible. A movement caught his eye and Matt looked beyond the assembly line and through a huge window into the chamber next door. Two men in space suits were walking clumsily together, as if in slow motion. They stopped. An alarm began to sound and suddenly they disappeared in a cloud of white steam. Matt remembered what he had just heard. Were they being decontaminated? But if the V Techs were based on the round processor there couldn't possibly be any need for such extremes-and anyway, this was like nothing Matt had ever seen before. If the men were being decontaminated, what were they being decontaminated from?

"Agent Harkov, report to the bio-containment zone. This is a call for agent Harkov."

A lean, fair-haired figure dressed in black detached himself from the assembly line and walked languidly toward a door that slid open to receive him. For the second time Matt found himself looking at the Russian contract killer, Ivan Harkov. What was going on? Matt thought back to the submarine and the vacuum-sealed boxes. Of course. Ivan had brought the test tubes that were even now being inserted into the computers. The test tubes were some sort of weapon that he was using to sabotage them. No. That wasn't possible. Back in Port Omaezaki, the librarian had told him that Mahon Ishida had been asking for books about computer viruses.

Viruses.

Decontamination.

The bio containment zone ...

Understanding finally came - and with it something cold and solid jabbing into the back of his neck.

Matt hadn't even heard the door open behind him, but he slowly straightened up as a voice spoke softly into his ear.

"Stand up. Keep your hands by your sides. If you make any sudden move, I'll shoot you in the head." He looked slowly around. A single guard stood behind him, a gun in his hand. It was the sort of thing that Matt had seen a thousand times in films and on television, and he was shocked by how different the reality was. The gun was a Browning automatic pistol and one twitch of the man's finger would send a 9mm bullet shattering through his skull and into his brain. The very thought of it made him feel sick. He stood up. The guard was in his twenties, pale faced and puzzled. Matt had never seen him before, but more importantly, he had never seen Matt. He hadn't expected to come across a boy. That might help.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm staying with Mr. Warren," Matt said. He stared at the gun. "Why are you pointing that at me? I'm not doing anything wrong." He sounded pathetic. The Little boy lost Technique. But it had the desired effect. The guard hesitated, slightly lowering the gun. At that moment Matt struck. It was another classic karate blow, this time twisting his body around and driving his elbow into the side of the man's head, just below his ear. The guard didn't even cry out. His eyes rolled and he went limp. Matt had almost certainly knocked him out with the single punch, but he couldn't take chances and followed it through with a knee into the groin. The guard folded, his pistol falling to the ground. Quickly, Matt dragged him back, away from the railings. He looked down. Nobody had seen what had happened. But the guard wouldn't be unconscious long and Matt knew he had to get out of here, not just back up to ground level but out of Warren Enterprises altogether. He had to contact Mrs. Jensen. He still didn't know how or why, but he knew now that the V Techs had been turned into killing machines. There were less than twenty-four hours until the launch at the Science Museum. Somehow Matt had to stop it from happening. He ran. The door at the end of the passage slid open and he found himself in a curving white corridor with windowless offices built into what must be yet more shafts of the Shinozuoka Mine. He knew he couldn't go back the way he had come. He was too tired, and even if he could find his way, through the mine, he'd never be able to manage the swim a second time. His only chance was the door that had first led him here. It led to the metal staircase that would bring him to Block D. There was a telephone in his room. Failing that, he could use the Game Boy to transmit a message. But JIN 7 had to know what he had found out. He reached the end of the corridor then ducked back as three guards appeared, walking together toward a set of double doors. Fortunately, they hadn't seen him. Nobody knew he was here. He was going to be all right. And then the alarms went off. A siren wailing electronically along the corridors, leaping out from the corners, echoing everywhere. Overhead, a light began to flash red. The guards wheeled around and saw Matt. Unlike the man on the observation platform, they didn't hesitate. As Matt leaped headfirst through the nearest door, they brought up their machine guns and fired. Bullets slammed into the wall beside him and ricocheted along the passageway. Matt landed flat on his stomach and kicked out, slamming the door behind him. He straightened up, found a bolt, and rammed it home. A second later there was an explosive hammering on the other side as the guards fired at the door. But it was solid metal. It would hold. Matt was standing in a metal passageway leading to a tangle of pipes and cylinders, like the boiler room of a ship. The alarm was as loud here as it had been in the main chamber. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. He leaped down the staircase, three steps at a time, and skidded to a halt, searching for a way out. He had a choice of three corridors, but then he heard the rattle of feet and knew that his choice had just become two. He wished now that he had thought to pick up the Browning automatic. He was alone and unarmed. The only duck in a shooting gallery with guns everywhere and no way out. Was this what JIN 7 had trained him for? If so, two weeks hadn't been enough.

He ran on, weaving in and out of the pipes, trying every door he came to. A room with more space suits hanging on hooks. A shower room. Another, larger laboratory with a second door leading out and, in the middle, a glass tank shaped like a barrel, filled with green liquid. Tangles of rubber tubing sprouted out of the tank. Trays filled with test tubes all around.

The barrel-shaped tank. The trays. Matt had seen them before-as vague outlines on his Game Boy. He must have been standing on the other side of the second door. He ran over to it. It was locked from the inside, electronically, with a glass plate against the wall. He would never be able to open it. He was trapped. Footsteps approached. Matt just had time to hide himself on the floor, underneath one of the work surfaces, before the first door was thrown open and two more guards ran into the laboratory. They took a quick look around without seeing him.

"Not here!" one of them said.

"You'd better go up!" One guard walked out the way he had come. The other went over to the door and placed his hand on the glass identification panel. There was a green glow and the door buzzed loudly. The guard threw it open and disappeared. Matt rolled forward as the door swung shut and just managed to get his hand into the crack. He waited a moment, then stood up. He opened the door. As he had hoped, he was looking out into the unfinished passageway where he had been surprised by Aili Alarica. The guard had already gone on ahead. Matt slipped out, closing the door behind him, cutting off the sound of the siren. He made his way up the metal stairs. They led him back to the glass corridor that joined Blocks C and D. Matt was grateful to be back above ground. He found a door and slipped outside. The sun had already set, but across the lawn the airstrip was ablaze, artificially illuminated by the sort of lights Matt had seen in soccer stadiums. There were about a dozen trucks parked next to each other. Men were loading them up with heavy, square red-and-white boxes. The cargo plane that Matt had seen when he arrived rumbled down the runway and lurched into the air. Matt knew that he was looking at the end of the assembly line. The red-and-white boxes were the same ones he had seen in the underground chamber. The V Techs, complete with their deadly secret, were being loaded up and delivered. By morning they would be all over the country. Keeping low, he ran past the fountain and across the grass. He thought about making for the main gate, but he knew that was hopeless. The guards would have been alerted. They'd be waiting for him. Nor could he climb the perimeter fence, not with the razor wire stretched out across the top. No. His own room seemed the best answer. The telephone was there. And so were his only weapons, the few gadgets that Samantha had given him four days-or was it four years?-ago. He entered the house through the kitchen, the same way he had left it the night before. It was only eight o'clock, but the whole place seemed to be deserted. He ran up the staircase and along the corridor to his room on the first floor. Slowly, he opened the door. It seemed his luck was holding out. There was nobody there. Without turning on the light, he went inside and snatched up the telephone. The line was dead. Never mind. He found the cartridges for his Game Boy, his yoyo, and the zit cream and crammed them into his pockets. He had already decided not to stay here. It was too dangerous. He would find somewhere to hide out. Then he would use the Armorines: Project S.W.A.R.M. cartridge to contact JIN 7. He went back to the door and opened it. With a shock he saw Mr. Scar standing in the hallway, looking hideous with his white face, his ginger hair, and his mauve twisted smile. Matt reacted quickly, striking out with the heel of his right hand. But Mr. Scar was quicker. He ducked to one side, then his hand shot out, the side of it driving into Matt's throat. Matt gasped for breath but none came. The butler made an inarticulate sound and lashed out a second time. Matt got the impression that behind the livid scars he really was smiling, enjoying himself. He tried to avoid the blow, but Mr. Scar's fist hit him square on the jaw. He was spun into the bedroom, falling backward.

He never even remembered hitting the floor.


	16. Corrupted Past

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 16: Corrupted Past**

They came for Matt the following morning. He had spent the night handcuffed to a radiator in a small dark room with a single barred window. It might once have been a coal cellar. When Matt opened his eyes, the grey first light of the morning was just creeping in. He opened them and closed them again. His head was thumping and the side of his face was swollen where Mr. Scar had hit him. His arms were twisted behind him and the tendons in his shoulder were on fire. It was April 1, the day when the V Techs would be unleashed. And Matt was helpless. He had let down JIN 7, his dad, sakura, Julie, everyone but worst of all- he let himself down. It was just before nine o'clock when the door opened and two guards came in with Mr. Scar behind them. The handcuffs were unlocked and Matt was forced to his feet. Then, with a guard holding him on each side, he was marched out of the room and up a flight of stairs. He was still in Warren's house. The stairs led up to the hall with its huge painting of Judgment Day. Matt looked at the figures, writhing in agony on the canvas. If he was right, the image would soon be repeated all over Japan. And it would happen in just three hours' time. The guards half dragged him through a doorway and into the room with the aquarium. There was a high-backed wooden chair in front of it. Matt was forced to sit down. His hands were cuffed behind him again. The guards left. Mr. Scar remained. He heard the sound of feet on the spiral staircase them he saw the leather shoes coming down before he saw the man who wore them. Then Darren Warren appeared, dressed in an immaculate pale grey silk suit. Korindo Ooishi and Mrs. Jensen had been suspicious of the American/Japanese multimillionaire from the very start. They'd always thought he had something to hide. But even they had never guessed the truth. He wasn't a friend of Japan. He was its worst enemy.

"Three questions," Warren snapped. His voice was utterly cold. "Who are you? Who sent you here? How much do you know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Matt said. Warren sighed. If there had been anything comical about him when Matt had first seen him, it had completely evaporated. His face was bored and businesslike. His eyes were ugly, full of menace.

"We have very little time," he said. "Mr. Scar...?" Mr. Scar went over to one of the display cases and took out a knife, razor sharp with a serrated edge. He held it up close to his face, his eyes gleaming. "I've already told you that Mr. Scar used to be an expert with knives," Warren continued. "He still is. Tell me what I want to know, Matt, or he will cause you more pain than you could begin to imagine. And don't try to lie to me, please. Just remember what happens to liars. Particularly to their tongues." Mr. Scar took a step closer. The blade flashed, catching the light.

"My name is Matt Ishida," Matt said.

"Ishida's son."

"That's right."

"Who sent you here?"

"The same people who sent him." There was no point lying. It didn't matter anymore. The stakes had become too high.

"JIN 7?" Warren laughed without any sign of humour. "They send fourteen -year -old boys to do their dirty work? Not very Japanese of them, in England we'd say. It's just not cricket! What?" He had adopted an exaggerated English accent.

"I'm fifteen, actually." Matt remarked. Suddenly the knife Mr. Scar was holding was thrown to the floor, just an inch in front of matt's foot. Warren sighed. Now he walked forward and sat down behind the desk. "And what of my third question, Matt? How much have you found out?" Matt shrugged, trying to look casual, to hide the fear he was really feeling.

"I know enough," he said.

"Go on." Matt took a breath. Behind him, the jellyfish drifted past like a poisonous cloud. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. He tugged at the handcuffs, wondering if it would be possible to break the chair. There was a sudden flash and the Second knife that Mr. Scar had been holding was suddenly quivering in the back of the chair, an inch from his head. The edge of the blade had actually nicked the skin of his neck. He felt a trickle of blood slide down over his collar.

"You're keeping us waiting," Darren Warren said.

"All right. When my father was here, he became interested in viruses. He asked about them at the local library. I thought he was talking about computer viruses. That was the natural assumption. But I was wrong. I saw what you were doing, last night. I heard them talking on the speaker system. Decontamination and bio-containment zones. They were talking about biological warfare. You've gotten hold of some sort of real virus. It came here in test tubes, packed into silver boxes, and you've put them into the V Techs. I don't know what happens next. I suppose when the computers are turned on, people die. They're in schools, so it'll be schoolchildren. Which means that you're not the saint everyone thinks you are, Mr. Warren. A mass murderer. A bliddy psycho, I suppose you might say." Darren Warren clapped his hands softly together.

"You've done very well, Matt," he said. "I congratulate you. And I feel you deserve a reward. So I'm going to tell you everything. In a way it's appropriate that JIN 7 should have sent me a real Japanese schoolboy. Because, you see, there's nothing in the world I hate more. Oh yes..." His face twisted with anger, and for a moment, Matt could see the madness, alive in his eyes. "You bliddy snobs with your stuck-up schools and your stinking Japanese superiority over technology! But I'm going to show you. I'm going to give you what you deserve!" He stood up and walked over to Matt. "I came to this country forty years ago," he said. "I had no money. My family had nothing. But if it wasn't for a freak accident, I would probably have lived and died in Tennessee. Better for you, if I had! So much better! "I was brought here and educated by a Japanese family. They were grateful to me because I'd saved their lives. Oh yes. And I was grateful to them too. You cannot imagine how I was feeling then. To be in Tokyo, which I had always believed to be the heart of civilization. To see such wealth and to know that I was going to be part of it! I was going to be Japanese! To a child born in the Tennessee gutter, it was an impossible dream. "But I was soon to learn the reality. . ." Warren leaned forward and yanked the knife out of the chair and floor. He tossed it to Mr. Scar, who caught them and spun them round in his hands. "From the moment I arrived at the school, I was mocked and bullied. Because of my size. Because of my dark skin. Because I couldn't speak Japanese well. Because I wasn't one of them. They had names for me. Darren Walrus. Goat-boy. Freak. And they played tricks on me. Pins on the chair. Books stolen and defaced. My trousers ripped off me and hung out on the flagpole underneath the Red spot." Warren shook his head slowly. "I had loved that flag when I first came here," he said. "But in only weeks I came to hate it."

"Lots of people are bullied at school-" Matt began and stopped as Warren backhanded him viciously across the face.

"I haven't finished," Warren said. He was breathing heavily and there was spittle on his lower lip. Matt could see him reliving the past. And once again he was allowing the past to destroy him. "There were plenty of bullies in that school," he said. "But there was one who was worse than any of them. He was a small, smarmy shrimp of a boy, but his parents were rich and he had a way with the other children. He knew how to talk his way around them ... a politician even then. Oh yes. He could be charming when he wanted to. When there were teachers around. But the moment their backs were turned, he was onto me. He used to organize the others. 'Let's get the freak. Let's push his head in the toilet.' He had a thousand ideas to make my life miserable and he never stopped thinking up more. All the time he goaded me and taunted me and there was nothing I could do because he was popular and I was a foreigner. And do you know who that boy grew up to be?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me," Matt said.

"I am going to tell you. Yes. He grew up to be the bliddy prime minister!" Warren took out a white silk handkerchief and wiped his face. His bald head was gleaming with sweat. "All my life I've been treated the same way," he continued. "No matter how successful I've become, how much money I've made, how many people I've employed. I'm still a joke. I'm still

Darren Walrus, the goat-boy, the US tramp. Well, for forty years I've been planning my revenge. And now, at last, my time has come. Mr. Scar..." Mr. Scar went over to the wall and pressed a button. Matt half expected the snooker table to rise out of the floor, but instead, on every wall, a panel slid up to reveal floor -to ceiling television screens that immediately flickered into life. One screen Matt could see the underground laboratory, on another the assembly line, on the third, the airstrip with the last of the trucks on its way out. There were closed-circuit television cameras everywhere, and Warren could see every corner of his kingdom without even leaving the room. No wonder Matt had been discovered so easily.

"The V Techs are armed and ready. And yes, you're right, Matt. Each one contains what you might call a computer virus. But that, if you like, is my little April Fools' joke. Because the virus I'm talking about is a form of a flesh eating virus. Of course, Matt, it's been genetically modified to make it faster and stronger ... more lethal. Want to know why? Because I added something called anthrax to the mixture. A spoonful of the stuff would destroy a city. And my V Techs hold much, much more than that. "At the moment it's isolated, quite safe. But this afternoon there's going to be a bit of a party at the Science Museum. Every school in Japan will be joining in, with the schoolchildren gathered around their nice, new shiny computers. And at midday, on the stroke of twelve, my old friend, the prime minister, will make one of his smug, self-serving speeches and then he'll press a button. He thinks he'll be activating the computers, and in a way, he's right. Pressing the button will release the virus, and by midnight tonight, there will be no more schoolchildren in Japan and the prime minister will weep as he remembers the day he first bullied Darren Warren!"

"So V Tech isn't short for Virtual Technology, it's actually short for..."

"Virus Technology! Exactly! The stupid fools won't know what hit them until it's too late." Warren shouted with glee.

"You're mad!" Matt exclaimed. "By midnight tonight you'll be in jail."

Warren dismissed the thought with a wave of the hand. "I think not. By the time anyone realizes what has happened, I'll be gone. I'm not alone in this, Matt. I have powerful friends who have supported me-"

"Ivan Harkov."

"You have been busy!" He seemed surprised that Matt knew the name. "Ivan is working for the people who have been helping me. Let's not mention any names or even nationalities. You'd be surprised how many countries there are in the world who loathes the Japanese. Most of America, just to begin with. But anyway . . ." He clapped his hands and went back to his desk. "Now you know the truth. I'm glad I was able to tell you, Matt. You have no idea how much I hate you. Even when we were playing that stupid game of snooker, I was thinking how much pleasure it would give me to kill you. You're just like the boys I was at school with. Nothing has changed."

"You haven't changed," Matt said. His cheek was still smarting where Warren had hit him. But he'd heard enough. "I'm sorry you were bullied at school," he said. "But lots of kids get bullied and they don't turn into nutcases. You're really sad, Mr. Warren. And your plan won't work. I've told JIN 7 everything I know. They'll be waiting for you at the Science Museum. So will the men in white coats." Warren giggled.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," he said. His face was suddenly stone. "And perhaps you forget that I warned you about lying to me." Mr. Scar took a step forward, flipping the knife over so that the blade landed in the flat of his hand.

"I'd like to watch you die," Warren said. "Unfortunately, I have a pressing engagement in Tomoeda." He turned to Mr. Scar. "You can walk with me to the helicopter. Then come back here and kill the boy. Make it slow. Make it painful. We should have kept back some flesh eating virus mixture for him, but I'm sure you'll think of something much more creative."

He walked to the door, then stopped and turned to Matt. "Good-bye, Matt. It wasn't a pleasure knowing you. But enjoy your death. And remember. You're only going to be the first of many. . ." The door swung shut. Handcuffed to the chair with the jellyfish floating silently behind him, Matt was left alone and he knew there was no way out.


	17. A Stinging Sensation

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 17: A Stinging Sensation **

Matt gave up trying to break free of the chair. His wrists were bruised and bloody where the chain cut into him, but the cuffs were too tight. After thirty minutes, when Mr. Scar still hadn't come back, Matt had tried to reach the zit cream that Samantha had given him. He knew it would burn through the handcuffs in seconds, and the worst thing was he could actually feel it, where he had put it, in the zipped-up outer pocket of his combat trousers. But although his outstretched fingers were only a few inches away, try as he might he couldn't reach it. It was enough to drive him mad. He had heard the clatter of a helicopter taking off and knew that Darren Warren must be on his way to Tomoeda. Matt was still reeling from what he had heard. The multimillionaire was completely insane. What he was planning was beyond belief, a mass murder that would destroy Britain for generations to come. Matt tried to imagine what was about to happen. Tens of thousands of schoolchildren would be sitting in their classes, gathered around their new V Techs, waiting for the moment at midday exactly-when the prime minister would press the button and bring them on-line. But, instead, there would be a hiss and a small cloud of deadly flesh eating virus vapour would be released into the crowded room. And minutes later, all over the country, the dying would begin. Matt had to close his mind to the thought. It was too horrible. And yet it was going to happen in just a couple of hours' time. He was the only person who could stop it. And here he was, tied down, unable to move. The door opened. Matt twisted around; expecting to see Mr. Scar, but it was Aili Alarica who hurried in, closing the door behind her. Her pale round face seemed flushed, and her eyes, behind the glasses, were afraid. She came over to him.

"Matt-"

"What do you want?" Matt recoiled away from her as she leaned over him. Then there was a click, and to his astonishment, his hands came free. She had unlocked the handcuffs! He stood up, wondering what was going on.

"Listen to me," Alarica said. The words were tumbling quickly and softly out of her yellow-painted lips. "We do not have much time. I am here to help you. I worked with your father-Herr Ishida." Matt stared at her in surprise. "Yes. I am on the same side as you."

"But nobody told me-"

"It was better for you not to know."

"But . . ." Matt was confused. "I saw you with the submarine. You knew what Warren was doing. . . "

"There was nothing I could do. Not then. It's too hard for me to explain. We don't have the time to argue. You want to stop him or no?"

"I need to find a phone."

"All the phones in the house are coded. You cannot use them. But I have a mobile in my office."

"Then let's go." Matt was still suspicious. If Aili Alarica had known so much, why hadn't she tried to stop Warren before? On the other hand, she had released him-and Mr. Scar would be back any minute. He had no choice but to trust her. He followed her out of the room, around the corner, and up a flight of stairs to a landing with a statue of a naked woman, some Greek goddess, in the corner. Alarica paused for a moment, resting her hand against the statue's arm.

"What is it?" Matt asked.

"I feel dizzy. You go on. It's the first door on the left." Matt went past her, along the landing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her press down on the statue's arm. The arm moved ... a lever. By the time he knew he had been tricked, it was too late. He yelled out as the floor underneath him swung around on a hidden pivot. He tried to stop himself falling, but there was nothing he could do. He crashed onto his back and slid down through the floor and into a black plastic tunnel, which corkscrewed beneath him. As he went, he heard Aili Alarica laugh triumphantly, and then he was gone, desperately trying to find a hold on the sides, wondering what would be at the end of his fall. Five seconds later he found out. The corkscrew spat him out. He fell briefly through the air and splashed into cold water. For a moment he was blinded, fighting for air. Then he rose to the surface and found himself in a huge glass tank filled with water and rocks. That was when he realized, with horror, exactly where he was.

Alarica had deposited him in the tank with the giant jellyfish: Darren Warren's Sea Wasp. It was a miracle that he hadn't crashed right into it. He could see it in the far corner of the tank, its dreadful tentacles with their hundreds of stinging cells, twisting and spiralling in the water. There was nothing between him and it. Matt fought back the panic, forced himself to keep still. He realized that thrashing about in the water would only create the current that would bring the creature over to him. The jellyfish had no eyes. It didn't know he was there. It wouldn't ... couldn't attack. But eventually it would reach him. The tank he was in was huge, at least fifteen feet deep and twenty or thirty feet long. The glass rose above the level of the water, far out of his reach. There was no way he could climb out. Looking down, through the water, he could see light. He realized he was looking into the room he had just left, Darren Warren's private office. There was a movement, everything was vague and distorted through the rippling water-and the door opened. Two figures walked in. Matt could barely make them out, but he knew who they were. Fraulein Alarica and Mr. Scar. They stood together in front of the tank. Alarica was holding what looked like a mobile telephone in her hand.

"I hope you can hear me, Matt." The German woman's voice rang out from a speaker somewhere above his head. "I am sure you will have seen by now that there is no way out of the tank. You can tread water. Maybe for one hour, maybe for two. Others have lasted for longer. What is the record, Mr. Scar?"

"Ire naaargh aah!"

"Five and a half hours. Yes. But soon you will get tired, Matt. You will drown. Or perhaps it will be faster and you will drift into the embrace of our friend. You see him ... no? It is not an embrace to be desired. It will kill you. The pain, I think, will be beyond the imagination of a child. It is a pity, Matt Ishida, that JIN 7 chose to send you here. They will not be seeing you again." The voice clicked off. Matt kicked in the water, keeping his head above the surface, his eyes fixed on the jellyfish. There was another blurred movement on the other side of the glass. Mr. Scar had left the room. But Alarica had stayed behind. She wanted to watch him die. Matt looked up. The tank was lit from above by a series of neon strips, but they were too high to reach. Beneath him he heard a click and a soft, whirring sound. Almost at once he became aware that something had changed. The jellyfish was moving toward him! He could see the translucent cone with its dark mauve tip heading toward him. Underneath the creature, the tentacles slowly danced. He swallowed water and realized he had opened his mouth to cry out. Alarica must have turned on some sort of artificial current. That was what was making the jellyfish move. Desperately he kicked out with his feet, moving away from it, surging through the water on his back. One tentacle floated up and draped itself over his foot. If he hadn't been wearing sneakers, he would have been stung. Could the stinging cells penetrate his clothes? Almost certainly. His sneakers were the only protection he had. He reached the back corner of the aquarium and paused there, one hand against the glass. He already knew that what Alarica had said was true. If the jellyfish didn't get him, tiredness would. He had to fight every second to stay afloat, and sheer terror was sapping his strength. The glass. He pushed against it, wondering if he could break it. Perhaps there was a way . . . He checked the distance between himself and the jellyfish, took a deep breath and dived down to the bottom of the pool. He could see Aili Alarica, watching. Although she was a blur to him, he would be crystal clear to her. She didn't move, and Matt realized with despair that she had expected him to do just this. He swam to the rocks and looked for one small enough to bring to the surface. But the rocks were too heavy. He found one about the size of his own head, but it refused to move. Alarica hadn't tried to stop him because she knew that all the rocks were set in concrete. Matt was running out of breath. He twisted around and pushed himself up toward the surface, only seeing at the last second that the jellyfish had drifted above him. He screamed, bubbles erupting out of his mouth. The tentacles were right over his head. Matt contorted his body and managed to stay down, flailing madly with his legs to propel himself sideways. His shoulder slammed into the nearest of the rocks and he felt the pain shudder through him. Clutching his arm in his hand, he backed into another corner and rose back up, gasping for breath as his head broke through the surface of the water.

He couldn't break the glass. He couldn't climb out. He couldn't avoid the touch of the jellyfish forever. Although he had taken all the gadgets Samantha had given him, none of them could help him. And then Matt remembered the zit cream. He let go of his arm and ran a finger up the side of the aquarium. The tank was an engineering marvel. Matt had no idea how much pressure the water was exerting on the huge plates of glass, but the whole thing was held together by a framework of iron girders that fitted around the corners on both the inside and the outside of the glass, the metal faces held together by a series of rivets. Treading water, he unzipped his pocket and took out the tube. OXY CLEAN. FOR HEALTHIER SKIN. If

Aili Alarica could see what he was doing; she must think he had gone mad. The jellyfish was drifting toward the back of the aquarium. Matt waited a few moments, then swam forward and dived for a second time. There didn't seem to be very much of the cream given the thickness of the girders and the size of the tank, but Matt remembered the demonstration Samantha had given him, how little he had used. Would the cream even work underwater? There was no point worrying about that now; he had to give it a try. Matt held the tube against the metal corners at the front of the tank and did his best to squeeze a long line of cream all the way down the length of metal, using his other hand to rub it in around the rivets.

He kicked his feet, propelling himself across to the other side. He didn't know how long he would have before the cream took effect ... and anyway, Aili Alarica was already aware that something was wrong. Matt saw that she had stood up again and was speaking into the mobile phone, perhaps calling for help. He had used half the tube on one side of the tank He used the second half on the other. The jellyfish was hovering above him, the tentacles reaching out as if to grab hold of him and stop him. How long had he been underwater? His heart was pounding. And what would happen when the metal broke? He just had time to take one breath before he found out. Even underwater, the cream burned through the rivets on the inside of the tank. The glass separated from the girders, and with nothing to hold it back, the huge pressure of water smashed it open like a door caught in the wind. Matt didn't see what happened next. He didn't have time to think. The world spun and he was thrown forward, as helpless as a cork in a waterfall. The next few seconds were a twisting nightmare of rushing water and exploding glass. Matt didn't dare open his eyes. He felt himself being hurled forward, slammed into something, and then sucked back again. He was sure he had broken every bone in his body. Now he was underwater. He struggled to find air. His head broke through the surface, but even so, when he finally opened his mouth he was amazed he could actually breathe. The front of the tank had blown off and a thousand gallons of water had cascaded into Darren Warren's office. The water had smashed the furniture and blown the windows out. It was still falling in torrents through the holes where the windows had been, the rest of it draining away through the floor.

Bruised and dazed, Matt stood up, water curling around his ankles. Where was the jellyfish? He had been lucky that the two of them hadn't become tangled up in the sudden eruption of water. But it could still be close. There might still be enough water in Warren's office to allow it to reach him. Matt backed into a corner of the room, his whole body taut. Then he saw it. Aili Alarica had been less lucky than he. She had been standing in front of the glass when the girders broke and she hadn't been able to get out of the way in time. She was floating on her back, her legs limp and broken. The Sea Wasp was all over her. Part of it was sitting on her face and she seemed to be staring at him through the quivering mass of jelly. Her yellow lips were drawn back in an endless scream. The tentacles were wrapped all around her, hundreds and hundreds of stinging cells clinging to her arms and legs and chest. Feeling sick, Matt backed away to the door and staggered out into the corridor. An alarm had gone off. He only heard it now as sound and vision came back to him. The screaming. Of the siren shook him out of his dazed state, what time was it? Almost eleven o'clock. At least his watch was still working. But he was in Omaezaki, at least a five hour drive from Tomoeda, and with the alarms sounding, the armed guards, and the razor wire, he'd never make it out of the complex. Find a telephone? No. Alarica had probably been telling the truth when she said they were blocked. And, anyway, how could he get in touch with Korindo Ooishi or Mrs. Jensen at this late stage? They'd already be at the Science Museum.

Just one hour left. Outside, over the din of the alarms, Matt heard another sound. The splutter and roar of a propeller. He went over to the nearest window and looked out. Sure enough, the cargo plane that had been there when he arrived was about to take off. Matt was soaking wet, battered, and almost exhausted. But he knew what he had to do. He spun around and began to run. Before he left the room he grabbed two more items, a harpoon gun and a regular gun, he didn't have time to examine its make or how man bullets it had, it was a gun, that's all he needed.


	18. One Hour To DoomsDay

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 18: One Hour To DoomsDay **

Matt burst out of the house and stopped in the open air, taking stock of his surroundings. He

was aware of alarms ringing, guards running toward him, and two cars, still some distance away, tearing up the main drive, heading for the house. He just hoped that although it was obvious something was wrong, nobody would yet know what it was. They shouldn't be looking for him at least, not yet. That might give him the edge. It looked like he was too late. Warren's private helicopter had already gone. Only the cargo plane was left. If Matt was going to reach the Science Museum in Tomoeda in the fifty-nine minutes left to him, he had to be on it. But the cargo plane was already in motion, rolling slowly away from its chocks. In a minute or two it would go through the pre-flight tests. Then it would take off. Matt looked around and saw an open-topped army jeep parked on the drive near the front door. There was a guard standing next to it, a cigarette slipping out of his hand, looking around to see what was happening but looking the wrong way. Perfect. Matt sprinted across the gravel. He had brought the weapons from the house with him. Suddenly matt saw the guard turnaround and he ducked out of sight near some barrels. It would be easy enough to shoot the guard right now. A harpoon in the back or a bullet through the head and the jeep would be his. But Matt knew he couldn't do it. Whatever Korindo Ooishi and JIN 7 wanted to turn him into, it just wasn't in him to shoot in cold blood Not for his country. Not even to save his own life. The guard looked up as Matt approached and fumbled for the pistol in a holster at his belt. He never made it. Matt used the handle of the harpoon gun, swinging it around and up to hit him, hard, under the chin. The guard crumpled, the pistol falling out of his hand. Matt grabbed it and leaped into the jeep, grateful to see the keys were in the ignition. He turned them and heard the engine start up. He knew how to drive. That was something else Mahon Ishida had made sure he'd learned ... as soon as his legs were long enough to reach the pedals. The other cars were closing in on him. They must have seen him attack the guard. Meanwhile, the plane had wheeled around and was already taxiing up to the start of the runway.

He wasn't going to reach it in time.

Maybe it was the danger closing in from all sides that had sharpened his senses.

Maybe it was his close escape from so many dangers before. But Matt didn't even have to think. He knew what to do, as if he had done it a dozen times before. Maybe the training he'd been given had been more effective than he'd thought. He reached into his pocket and took out the yo-yo that Samantha had given him. There was a metal stud on the belt he was wearing and he slammed the yo-yo against it, feeling it click into place, as it had been designed to. Then, as quickly as he could, he tied the end of the nylon cord around the bolt of the harpoon. Finally, he tucked the pistol he had taken from the guard into the back of his trousers. He was ready and fully armed. The plane was facing down the runway. Its propellers were at full speed. Matt wrenched the gear into first, released the hand brake, and gunned the jeep forward, shooting over the drive and onto the grass, heading for the airstrip. At the same time there was a chatter of machine-gun fire. He yanked down on the steering wheel and twisted away as his wing mirror exploded and a spray of bullets slammed into the windshield and door. The two cars that he had seen coming up the main drive had wheeled around to come up behind him. Each of them had a guard in the backseat, leaning out of the window, firing at him. And they were getting closer. Matt tried to go faster, but it was already too late. The two cars had reached him, and for a horrible second, he found himself sandwiched between them, one on each side. He was only inches away from the guards.

Looking left and right, he could see into the barrels of their machine guns. There was only one thing to do. He slammed his foot on the brake, ducking at the same time. The jeep skidded to a halt and the other two cars flashed past him. There was a chatter as both machine guns opened fire. Matt looked up. The two guards had squeezed their triggers simultaneously. They had both been aiming at him, but with the jeep suddenly out of their sights, they had ended up firing at each other. There was a yell. One of the cars lost control and crashed into a tree, metalwork crumpling against wood. The other screeched to a halt, reversed, then turned to come after him. Matt slammed the car back into first gear and set off again. Where was the plane? With a groan, he saw that it had begun rolling down the runway. It was still moving slowly but was rapidly picking up speed. Matt hit the tarmac and followed. His foot was pressed down, the gas pedal against the floor. The jeep was doing about seventy, but it wasn't fast enough. And straight ahead of him, the way was blocked. Two more cars had arrived on the runway. More guards with machine guns balanced themselves, half leaning out of the windows. They had a clear shot. There was nothing to stop them from hitting him. Unless...

He turned the steering wheel and yelled out as the jeep spun across the runway, behind the plane. Now he had the plane between him and the approaching cars. He was safe. But only for a few more seconds. The plane was about to leave the ground. Matt saw the front wheel separate itself from the runway. He glanced in his mirror. The car that had chased him from the house was right on his tail. He had nowhere left to go. One car behind him. Two more ahead. The plane was now in the air, the back wheels lifting off. The guards taking aim. Everything at seventy miles an hour. Matt let go of the steering wheel, grabbed the harpoon gun, and fired. The harpoon flashed through the air. The yo-yo attached to Matt's belt spun, trailing out thirty yards of specially designed advanced nylon cord. The pointed head of the harpoon buried itself in the underbelly of the plane. Matt felt himself almost being torn in half as he was yanked out of the jeep on the end of the cord. In seconds he was forty, fifty yards above the runway, dangling underneath the plane. His jeep swerved, out of control. The two oncoming cars tried to avoid it and failed. Both of them hit it in a three-way head-on collision. There was an explosion, a ball of flame and a fist of grey smoke that followed Matt up as if trying to seize him. A moment later there was another explosion. The third car had been traveling too fast. It ploughed into the burning wrecks, flipped over, and continued,

screeching along the runway on its back before it too burst into flames. Matt saw little of this. He was suspended underneath the plane by a single thin white cord, twisting around and around as he was carried ever farther into the air. The wind was rushing past him, battering his face and deafening him. He couldn't even hear the propellers, just above his head.

The belt was cutting into his waist. He could hardly breathe. Desperately, he scrambled for the yoyo and found the control he wanted. A single button. He pressed it and the tiny powerful motor inside the yo-yo began to turn. The yo-yo rotated on his belt, pulling in the cord. Very slowly, an inch at a time, Matt was drawn up toward the plane. He had aimed the harpoon accurately. There was a door at the back of the plane, and when he turned off' the engine mechanism in the yo-yo, he was close enough to reach out for the handle. He wondered who was flying the plane and where he was going. The pilot must have seen the destruction down on the runway, but he couldn't have heard the harpoon. He couldn't know he'd picked up an extra passenger. Opening the door was harder than Matt thought. He was still dangling under the plane and every time he got close to the handle the wind drove him back. The current was tearing into his eyes and Matt could hardly see. Twice his fingers found the metal handle, only to be pulled away before he could turn it. The third time he managed to get a better grip, but it still took all his strength to yank the handle down.

The door swung open and he clambered into the hold. He took one last look down. The runway was already a thousand feet below. There were two fires raging, but at this distance, they seemed no more than match heads. Matt unplugged the yo-yo, freeing himself. Then he reached into the waistband of his trousers and took out one of the guns. It was the one he picked up from the house. He checked the magazine of the gun, it had three bullets, he moved slowly. The plane was empty apart from a couple of bundles that Matt vaguely recognized. There was a single pilot at the controls, and something on his instrumentation must have told him that the door was open because he suddenly twisted around. Matt found himself face-to-face with Mr. Scar.

"Warg?" the butler muttered.

Matt raised the gun. He wondered if he would have the courage to use it. But he wasn't going to let Mr. Scar know that.

"All right, Mr. Scar," he shouted above the noise of the propeller and the howl of the wind. "You may not be able to talk, but you'd better listen. I want you to fly this plane to Tomoeda. We're going to the Science Museum in Shunari and we've got to be there in less than an hour. And if you think you're trying to trick me, I'll put a bullet in you. Do you understand?" Mr. Scar said nothing. Matt fired the gun. The bullet slammed into the floor just beside Mr. Scar's foot. Mr. Scar stared at Matt, then nodded slowly. He reached out and turned the joystick. The plane dipped and began to head north.


	19. Stopping the countdown

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 19: Stopping The Countdown**

Tomoeda appeared.

Suddenly the clouds rolled back and the late morning sun brought the whole city, shining, into view. There was Rhokaili Power Station, standing proud with its four great chimneys still intact, even though much of its roof had long ago been eaten away. Behind it, Rhokaili Park appeared as a square of dense green bushes and trees that were making a last stand, fighting back the urban spread. In the far distance he could see Tokyo Tower, standing tall and proud in the centre of the city. And all around it Tomoeda crouched; gas towers and apartment blocks, endless rows of shops and houses, roads, railways, and bridges stretching away on both sides, separated only by the bright silver crack in the landscape that was the River Shimari.

Matt saw all this with a clenched stomach, looking out through the open door of the aircraft. He'd had fifty minutes to think about what he had to do. Fifty minutes while the plane droned over Omaezaki and Makinohara, then Fujieda, and then Shizuoka before reaching Fuji and on toward kanagawa and Tomoeda.

When he had got into the plane, he had intended to use the radio to call the police or anyone else who might be listening. But seeing Mr. Scar at the controls had changed all that. He remembered how fast the man had been when he encountered him outside the bedroom. He knew he was safe enough in the cargo area, with Mr. Scar strapped into the pilot seat at the front of the plane. But he didn't dare get any closer. Even with the gun it would be too dangerous. He had thought of forcing Mr. Scar to land the plane at Kenobi airport. The radio had started squawking the moment they'd entered Tomoeda airspace and had only stopped when Mr. Scar turned it off. But that would never have worked. By the time they reached the airport, touched down, and coasted to a halt, it would be far too late. And then, sitting hunched up in the cargo area, Matt had recognized the two bundles lying on the floor next to him. They had told him exactly what he had to do.

"Eeerg!" Mr. Scar said. He twisted around in his seat, and for the last time, Matt saw the hideous smile that the circus knife had torn through his cheeks.

"Thanks for the ride," Matt said, and jumped out of the open door. The bundles were parachutes. Matt had checked them out and strapped one onto his back when

they were still over Readington. He was glad that he'd spent a day on parachute training with the SAT, although this flight had been even worse than the one he'd endured over the valleys. This time there was no static line. There had been no one to reassure him that his parachute was properly packed. If he could have thought of any other way to reach the Science Museum in the seven minutes that he had left, he would have taken it. There was no other way. He knew that. So he had jumped. Once he was over the threshold, it wasn't so bad. There was a moment of dizzying confusion as the wind hit him once again. He closed his eyes and forced himself to count to three. Pull too early and the parachute might snag on the plane's tail. Even so, his -hand was clenched and he had barely reached three before he was pulling with all his strength. The parachute blossomed open above him and he was jerked back upward, the harness cutting into his armpits and sides. They had been flying at ten thousand feet. When Matt opened his eyes, he was surprised by his sense of calm. He was dangling in the air, underneath a comforting canopy of white silk. He felt as if he wasn't moving at all. Now that he had left the plane, the city seemed even more distant and unreal. It was just him, the sky, and Tomoeda. He was almost enjoying himself. And then he heard the plane coming back.

It was already a mile or more away, but now he saw it bank steeply to the right, making a sharp turn. The engines rose, the plane levelled out, and it headed straight toward him. Mr. Scar wasn't going to let him get away so easily. As the plane drew closer and closer, he could imagine the man's never-ending smile behind the window of the cockpit. Mr. Scar intended to steer the plane straight into him, to cut him to shreds in midair. But Matt had been expecting it. As he fired his gun twice through the cockpit window, the plane veered off to try for a second time, he bought himself some time, the gun distraction worked. He reached down and took the Game Boy out of his trouser pocket. This time there was no game cartridge in it, but he had slipped Ballisticout a long time ago and slid it across the floor of the empty cargo plane. That was where it was now. Just behind Mr. Scar's seat. A smoke bomb. Set off by remote control. He pressed the start button three times. Inside the plane the cartridge exploded, releasing a cloud of acrid yellow smoke. The smoke billowed out through the hold, curling against the windows, trailing out of the open do and through the holes in the cockpit window. Mr. Scar vanished, completely surrounded by smoke. The plane wobbled, and then plunged down. Matt watched the plane dive. He could imagine Mr. Scar blinded, fighting for control.

The plane began to twist, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The engines whined. Now it was heading straight for the ground, howling through the sky. Yellow smoke trailed out in its wake. At the last minute Mr. Scar managed to bring up the nose again. But it was much too late. The plane smashed into what looked like a deserted piece of dock land near the River Shimari and disappeared in a ball of flame. Matt looked at his watch. Three minutes to twelve. He was still thousands of feet in the air, and unless he landed on the very doorstep of the Science Museum, he wasn't going to make it. Grabbing hold of the ropes, using them to steer himself, he tried to work out the fastest way down.

Inside the East Hall of the Science Museum, Darren Warren was coming to the end of his speech. The entire chamber had been transformed for the great moment when the V Techs would be brought on-line. The room was caught between old and new, between stone colonnades and stainless steel floors, between the very latest in high tech and old curiosities from the Industrial Revolution. A podium had been set up in the centre for Warren, the prime minister, his press secretary, and the minister of state for education. In front of them were twelve rows of chairs-for journalists, teachers, and invited friends. Korindo Ooishi was in the front row, as emotionless as ever. Mrs. Jensen, dressed in black with a large brooch on her lapel, was next to him. On either side television towers had been constructed with cameras focusing in as Warren spoke. The speech was being broadcast live to schools throughout the country and it would also be shown on the evening news. The hall was packed with another two or three hundred people, standing on first- and second-floor galleries, looking down on the podium from all sides. As Warren spoke, tape recorders turned and light bulbs flashed. Never before had a private individual made so generous a gift to the nation. This was an event. History in the making.

". . . it is the prime minister, and the prime minister alone who is responsible for what is about to, happen!" Warren was saying. "And I hope that tonight, when he reflects on what has happened today throughout this country, that he will remember our days together at school and everything he did at that time. I think tonight the country will know him for the man he is. One thing is sure. This is a day you will never forget." He bowed. There was a scattering of applause. The prime minister glanced at his press secretary, puzzled. The press secretary shrugged with barely concealed rudeness. The prime minister took his place in front of the microphone.

"I'm not quite sure how to respond to that," he joked, and all the journalists laughed. The government had such a large majority that they knew it was in their best interests to laugh at the prime minister's jokes. "I'm glad that Mr. Warren has such happy memories of our school days together and I'm glad that the two of us, together, today, can make such a vital difference to our nation's schools." Darren Warren gestured at a table slightly to one side of the podium. On the table was a V Tech computer and, next to it, a mouse.

"This is the master control," he said. "Click on the mouse and all the computers will come on-line."

"Right." The prime minister lifted his finger and adjusted his position so that the cameras could get his best profile. Somewhere outside the museum, a clock struck twelve.

Matt heard the clock from about five hundred feet up, with the roof of the Science Museum rushing toward him. He had seen the building just after the plane had crashed. It hadn't been easy finding it, with the city spread out like a three-dimensional map right underneath him. On the other hand, he had lived most of his life in Tomoeda and had visited the museum often enough. First he had seen the old clock tower of his old elementary school. Directly south of it was a tall white tower surmounted by a green dome: Shudari University. As Matt dropped, he seemed to be moving faster. The whole city had become a fantastic jigsaw puzzle and he knew he only had seconds to piece it together. A wide, extravagant building with churchlike towers and windows. That had to be the Natural History Museum. The Natural History Museum was on Shurobaki Road. How did you get from there to the Science Museum? Of course, turn left at the lights up Timihoroa lane. And there it was. Matt pulled at the parachute, guiding himself toward it. How small it looked compared to the other landmarks, a rectangular building jutting in from the main road with a flat grey roof and, next to it, a series of arches, the sort of thing you might see on a railway station or perhaps an enormous conservatory. They were a dull orange in colour, curving one after the other.

It looked as if they were made of glass. Matt could land on the flat roof. Then all he would have to do was look through the curved one. He still had the gun he had taken from the guard. He could use it to warn the prime minister. If he had to, he figured, he could use it to shoot Darren Warren. Somehow he managed to manoeuvre himself over the museum. But it was only as he fell the last five hundred feet, as he heard the clock strike twelve, that he realized two things. He was falling much too fast. And he had missed the flat roof.

In fact, the Science Museum has two roofs. The original was a stone flat roof with a dome in the centre made of wired glass. But sometime recently it must have leaked because the curators constructed a second roof of plastic sheeting over the top. This was the orange roof that Matt had seen. He threw the empty gun at one of the glass panels hoping to break it. The gun cracked the large glass panel, bounced off and slid down to the floor below. He crashed into it with both feet at about thirty miles per hour. The roof shattered. He continued straight through, into an inner chamber, just missing a network of steel girders and maintenance ladders. He barely had time to register what looked like a brown carpet, stretched out over the curving surface below. Then he hit it and tore through that too. It was no more than a thin cover, designed to keep the light and dust off the glass that it covered. With a yell, Matt smashed through the glass. At last his parachute caught on a beam. He jerked to a halt, swinging in midair inside the East Hall.

This was what he saw.

Far below him, all around him, three hundred people had stopped and were staring up at him in shock. There were more people sitting on chairs directly underneath him and some of them had been hit. There was blood and broken glass. A bridge made of green glass slats stretched across the hall. There was a futuristic information desk and in front of it, at the very centre of everything, was a makeshift stage. He saw the V Tech first. Then, with a sense of disbelief, he recognized the prime minister standing, slack jawed, next to Darren Warren. Matt hung in the air, dangling at the end of the parachute. As the last pieces of glass fell and disintegrated on the terra-cotta floor, movement and sound returned to the East Hall in an ever widening wave. The security men were the first to react. Anonymous and invisible when they needed to be, they were suddenly everywhere, appearing from behind colonnades, from underneath the television towers, running across the green bridge, guns in hands that had been empty a second before. Matt had also drawn his own gun, pulling it out from the waistband of his trousers. Maybe he could explain why he was here before Warren or the prime minister activated the V Techs. But he doubted it. Shoot first and ask questions later was a line from a bad film. But even bad films are sometimes right.

He emptied the gun.

The bullets echoed around the room, surprisingly loud. Now people were screaming, the journalists punching and pushing as they fought for cover. The first bullet smashed into the information desk. The second hit the prime minister in the hand, his finger less than an inch away from the mouse. The third hit the mouse, blowing it into fragments. The fourth hit an electrical connection, disintegrating the plug and short circuiting it. Warren had dived forward, determined to click on the mouse himself. The fifth and the sixth bullets hit him.

As soon as Matt had fired the last bullet, he dropped the gun, letting it clatter to the floor below, and held up the palms of his hands. He felt ridiculous, hanging there from the ceiling, his arms outstretched. But there were already a dozen guns pointing at him and he had to show them that he was no longer armed, that they didn't need to shoot. Even so, he braced himself, waiting for the security men to open fire. He could almost imagine the hail of bullets tearing into him. As far as they were concerned, he was some sort of crazy terrorist who had just parachuted into the Science Museum and taken six shots at the prime minister. It was their job to kill him. It was what they'd been trained for.

But the bullets never came. All the security men were equipped with radio microphones, and in the front row, Mrs. Jensen had control. The moment she had recognized Matt she had been speaking urgently into her brooch.

"_Don't shoot! Repeat-don't shoot! Await my command_!" On the podium, a plume of grey smoke rose out of' the side of the broken, useless V Tech. Two security men had rushed to the prime minister, who was clutching his wrist, blood dripping out of his hand. The photographers and journalists had begun to shout questions. Their cameras were flashing and the television cameras too had been swung around to focus in on the figure swaying high above. More security men were moving to seal off the exits, following orders from Mrs. Jensen, while Korindo Ooishi looked on, for once in his life he was out of his depth. But there was no sign of Darren Warren. The head of' Warren Enterprises had been shot twice, but somehow he had disappeared.


	20. IVAN

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 20: IVAN**

"You slightly spoiled things by shooting the prime minister," Korindo Ooishi said. "But all in all you're to be congratulated, Matt. You not only lived up to our expectations. You way exceeded them." It was late afternoon the following day, and Matt was sitting in Ooishi's office at the Fuji TV Network building on Orotaki Street wondering just why, after everything he had done for them, the head of JIN 7 had to sound quite so much like the principal of a second rate private school giving him a good report. Mrs. Jensen was sitting next to him. Matt had refused her offer of a Strawberry & cream sweet, although he was beginning to realize it was all the reward he was going to get. She spoke now for the first time since he had come into the room.

"You might like to know about the clearing-up operation."

"Sure . . ." She glanced at Ooishi, who nodded.

"First of all, don't expect to read the truth about any of this in the newspapers," she began. "We put a D-notice on it, which means nobody is allowed to print anything. Of course, the ceremony at the Science Museum was being televised live, but fortunately we were able to cut the transmission before the cameras could focus on you. In fact, nobody knows that it was a fourteen-year-old boy who caused all the chaos."

"And we plan to keep it that way," Ooishi muttered.

"Why?" Matt didn't like the sound of that. Mrs. Jensen dismissed the question.

"The newspapers had to print something, of course," she went on. "The story we've put out is that Warren was attacked by a hitherto unknown terrorist organization and that he's gone into hiding . . ."

"Where is Warren?" Matt asked.

"We don't know. But we'll find him. There's nowhere on earth he can hide from us."

"Okay." Matt sounded doubtful.

"As for the V Techs, we've already announced that there's a dangerous product fault and that anyone turning them on could get electrocuted. It's embarrassing for the government, of course, but they've all been recalled and we're bringing them in now. Fortunately, Warren was so fanatical that he programmed them so that the flesh eating virus could only be released by the prime minister at the Science Museum. You managed to destroy the trigger, so even the few schools that have tried to start up their computers haven't been affected."

"It was very close," Ooishi said. "We've analyzed a couple of samples. It's lethal. Worse even than the stuff' Iraq was brewing up in the Gulf War."

"Do you know who supplied it?" Matt asked. Ooishi coughed.

"No."

"How about the submarine that I saw?"

"Forget about the submarine." It was obvious that Ooishi didn't want to talk about it. "You can just be sure that we'll make all the necessary inquiries ..."

"What about Ivan Harkov?" Matt asked. Mrs. Jensen took over.

"We've closed down the plant at Port Omaezaki," she said. "We already have most of the personnel under arrest. It's unfortunate though that we weren't able to talk to either Aili Alarica or the man you knew as Mr. Scar."

"He never talked much, anyway," Matt said.

"It was lucky that his plane crashed into a building site," Mrs. Jensen went on. "Nobody else was killed. As for Ivan, I imagine he'll disappear. From what you've told us, it's clear that he wasn't actually working for Warren. He was working for the people who were sponsoring Warren ... and I doubt they'll be very pleased with him. Ivan is probably on the other side of the world already. But one day, perhaps, we'll find him. We'll never stop looking."

There was a long silence. It seemed that the two spymasters had said all they wanted. But there was one question that nobody had tackled.

"What happens to me?" Matt asked.

"You go back to High school," Ooishi replied. Mrs. Jensen took out an envelope and handed it to Matt.

"A cheque?" Matt asked.

"It's a letter from a doctor, explaining that you've been away for three weeks with the flu. Very bad flu. And if anyone asks, he's a real doctor. You shouldn't have any trouble."

"You'll continue to live in your father's house," Ooishi said. "That housekeeper of yours, Julie

Whatever. We'll get her visa renewed and she'll continue to look after you. And that way we'll know where you are if we need you again." _Need you again_. The words chilled Matt more than anything that had happened to him in the past three weeks.

"You've got to be kidding," he said.

"No." Ooishi gazed at him quite coolly. "It's not my habit to make jokes."

"You've done very well, Matt," Mrs. Jensen said, trying to sound more conciliatory. "The prime minister himself asked us to pass on his thanks to you. And the fact of the matter is that it could be wonderfully useful to have someone as young as you-"

"As talented as you-" Ooishi cut in.

"-available to us from time to time." She held up a hand to ward off any argument. "Let's not talk about it now," she said. "But if ever another situation arises, maybe we can talk about it then."

"Yeah. Sure." Matt looked from one to the other. These weren't people who were going to take no for an answer. In their own way, they were both as charming as Mr. Scar. "Can I go?" he asked.

"Of course you can," Mrs. Jensen said. "Would you like someone to drive you home?"

"No, thanks." Matt got up. "I'll find my own way." As he left for the door he hesitated he wanted to let them know one fact about himself. "By the way..." Matt started. Ooishi and Mrs Jensen stared inquisitively at him. "I'm fifteen now, i spent my birthday getting in a madman's house day after i nearly get killed." And with that he left.

He should have been feeling better. As he took the elevator down to the ground floor, he reflected that he'd saved thousands of schoolchildren, he'd beaten Darren Warren, and he hadn't been killed or even badly hurt. So what was there to be unhappy about? The answer was simple. Ooishi had forced him into this. In the end, the big difference between him and James Bond wasn't a question of age. It was a question of loyalty. In the old days, spies had done what they'd done because they loved their country, because they believed in what they were doing. But he'd never been given a choice. Nowadays, spies weren't employed. They were used. He came out of the building, and walked down the long pathway through the courtyard to outside the building premises. He was meaning to walk up to the tube station, but just then a cab drove along and he flagged it down. He was too tired for public transport. He glanced at the driver, huddled over the wheel in a horribly knitted, homemade cardigan, and slumped onto the backseat.

"Shrudari lane, likime district," Matt said. The driver turned around. He was holding a gun. His face was paler than it had been the last time Matt saw it, and the pain of two bullet wounds was drawn all over it, but impossibly-it was Darren Warren.

"If you move, you bliddy child, I will shoot you," Warren said. His voice was pure venom. "If you try anything, I will shoot you. Sit still. You're coming with me." The doors clicked shut, locking automatically. Darren Warren turned around and drove off, down Orotaki Street, heading for the City. Matt didn't know what to do. He was certain that Warren planned to shoot him, anyway. Why else would he have taken the huge chance of driving up to the very door of JIN 7 headquarters in Tomoeda? He thought about trying the window, perhaps trying to get the attention of another car at a traffic light. But it wouldn't work. Warren would turn around and kill him. The man had nothing left to lose. They drove for ten minutes. It was a Saturday and the City was closed. The traffic was light. Then Warren pulled up in front of a large metal structure, a tall building that looked similar to the Eiffel tower in France that he saw on holiday once, Tokyo Tower.

"You will get out of the car with me," Warren commanded. "You and I will walk into the building. If you think about running, remember that this gun is pointing at your spine."

Warren got out of the car first. His eyes never left Matt. Matt guessed that the two bullets must have hit him in the left arm and shoulder. His left hand was hanging limp. But the gun was in his right hand. It was perfectly steady, aimed at Matt's lower back.

"In. . ."

The building automatic doors and they were working. Matt found himself in a marble-clad hall with leather sofas and a curving reception desk. There was nobody here either. Warren gestured with the gun and he walked over to a bank of elevators. One of them was waiting. He got in.

"The Observation deck," Warren said. Matt pressed the button.

"Are we going up for the view?" he asked. Warren nodded.

"You can make all the bliddy jokes you want," he said. "But I'm going to have the last

laugh." They stood in silence. Matt could feel the pressure in his ears as the elevator rose higher and higher. Warren was staring at him, his damaged arm tucked into his side, supporting himself against one wall. Matt thought about attacking him. If he could just get the element of surprise. But, no ... they were too close. And Warren was coiled up like a spring. The elevator slowed down and the doors opened. Warren waved with the gun. "Turn left and go down the hall. You'll come to a door. Open it."

Matt did as he was told. The door was marked CAUTION AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A flight of concrete steps led up. Matt glanced at Warren. Warren nodded. "Up."

They climbed the steps and reached another door with a push bar. Matt pressed it and went

through. He was back outside, forty one floors up on a flat roof with a radio mast and a tall metal fence going all the way up to the top. Around the roof was some sort of metal grill, probably to hook harness into when cleaning the outside windows. He and Warren were standing on the edge of the grill, painted in red paint. It had to match the rest of the tower. Looking around, he could see right across the city to the subodia district and beyond. It had

seemed a quiet spring day when Matt left the Fuji TV Network. But up here the wind

streaked past and the clouds boiled. "You ruined everything!" Warren howled. "How did you do it? How did you trick me? I'd have beaten you if you'd been a man! But they had to send a boy! A bliddy schoolboy! Well, it isn't over yet! I'm leaving Japan. That's why I brought you here. I wanted you to see!"' Warren nodded and Matt turned around to see that there was a helicopter hovering in the air behind him. It swung round the tower. Where had it come

from? It was painted red and yellow, a light, single -engine aircraft with a figure in dark glasses and helmet hunched over the controls. The helicopter was an AS332 Super Pumatust warren to escape in something that should be looking for him. It swung around over him, its blades beating at the air. "That's my ticket out of here!" Warren continued. "They'll never find me! And one day I'll be back. Next time, nothing will go wrong. And you won't be here to stop me. This is the end for you! This is where you die!" There was nothing matt could do Warren raised the gun and took aim, his eyes wide, the pupils blacker than they had ever been, mere pinpricks in the bulging white. Suddenly a rope ladder was lowered from the helicopter; it hung just over the grill. At the top matt saw a figure that made his eyes widen. Ivan Harkov. Warren smiled at Harkov and yelled to him over the noise of the blades. "Mr. Harkov so glad you could join me. Isn't it a shame you had to kill this boy's father. Well what say you reunite them." Harkovs emotionless face stared into matt's eyes. He then pulled a gun with his free hand out of the holster from his right shoulder. As he took aim he squeezed the trigger and fired.

There were two small explosive cracks. Harkov fired twice from one shot. Matt looked down, expecting to see blood. There was nothing. He couldn't feel anything. Then Warren

staggered and fell forward. As he fell he pushed into matt and they both went over the edge. Matt managed to grab the grill in time, Warren was not so lucky. There were two gaping holes in his chest. The helicopter began to make a slow descend with the rope ladder coming down with the assassin. As matt daggled helplessly over the edge he thought he was going to die one way or another. Suddenly Harkov was his level holding out his hand and said friendly to him.

"Need a hand?" Matt was hesitant at first, but with his fingers slipping he had no choice.

He jumped.

As he fell he managed to grab the Russians hand. As Harkov strained to lift him he held onto to matt as long as he could until he grabbed the rope ladder. With matt holding tight to the rope ladder Harkov signalled the pilot to land.

A few blocks away on a tall building with a giant H painted in red, matt stood on the edge looking at Tokyo Tower. His hair was blowing in the wind. Matt was so focused on the tower he didn't notice Harkov standing next to him. The man made no noise when he walked. Matt glanced at the man without turning his head. As they stood side by side Matt asked Harkov.

"Why did you kill him?" Matt asked.

"Those were my instructions." There was no trace of an accent in his voice. He spoke softly, reasonably. "He had become an embarrassment to the people i was work for. It was better this way."

"Not better for him." Ivan shrugged. "What about me?" Matt asked. The Russian ran his eyes over Matt, as if weighing him up.

"I have no instructions concerning you," he said.

"You're not going to shoot me too?"

"Do I have any need to?" There was a pause. The two of them gazed at each other with the tower in the distance between them.

"You killed Mahon Ishida," Matt said. "He was my father." Ivan shrugged.

"I kill a lot of people."

"One day I'll kill you."

"A lot of people have tried, but none have so far succeed." Ivan smiled. "Believe me," he said, "It would be better if we didn't meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grown-ups and you're still a child."

He turned his back on Matt and climbed into the cabin. The blades started up, and a few seconds later, the helicopter rose back into the air. For a moment it hovered at the side of the building. Behind the glass, Ivan raised his hand. A gesture of friendship? A salute?

Matt raised his hand. Suddenly an object fell from the helicopter, it was small and dark. The helicopter spun away. Matt walked over to the object and couldn't believe what it was. It was a gun. A Tokarev TT 30 semi-automatic pistol, used in the Soviet Union. As Matt stood where he was, he watched the helicopter, until it had disappeared in the dying light. He checked the magazine it revealed one bullet. On the slide of the gun something was engraved, matt couldn't understand what it said, but given the fact it was a Russian gun given by a Russian assassin it must've be in Russian. The engagement read:

**месть**


	21. The Christmas Showdown

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 21: The Christmas Showdown **

Matt sat on the bed in a small rectangle room with a wooden floor and a circular wool rug in the middle. The room was yellow with a green clothes cabinet; the bedcovers were pink with a wooden self just above. A small TV with a games console was sitting in the corner of the room, one of the stuffed toys was looking at him with its small black bead like eyes. Matt had been staring at it for a while, it looked strange, its small ears on top of its large round head, its gold body with white wings on the back and its small fluff like tail. To matt it was escape from a nervous state he was in because this was not his bedroom. This room was strange and foreign. This room was a girl's bedroom, but not just any girl; this was Sakura Avalon's bedroom. It had been this very morning when he was approached during his first gym class of being back in school for a long time. He was in his blue gym shorts and white shirt, stretching before doing gym when sakura and Madison came over to say hi who were both dressed in the same uniform.

"Oh hi sakura, Madison, how was school while I was out sick?" They both smiled a secret smile.

"It was...interesting." it was Madison who spoke first.

"Would you like to come over to my house?" Sakura asked. "We could fill you in on what happened." Matt nodded.

"Sure, I'd love to."

Now that he was here, he wasn't so sure. Suddenly the door opened and in walked sakura and Madison still dressed in their green sailor outfits with the schools emblem. Sakura was carrying a tea tray with a beautiful flower teapot and matching four cups and plates...four cups of tea and four plates of strawberry shortcake? Matt was confused and was about ask when sakura said to matt nervously.

"There's...something we need to tell you." She was shaking like a leaf, matt's first impression was that she was ill. "See... we know, we know where've you been and we know that your...a spy." Matt's eyes widened. He almost wanted to laugh and pretend he had no idea what they were talking, but he knew he couldn't hide anything from his friends. As he sighed he looked at them both and asked.

"How long have you know?"

"Madison learned from her mum who gave you the gadgets, and Madison told me on Friday during the broadcast of the V Tech launch." Sakura then looked on the wooden shelf, took a breath and suddenly said. "You can move now Kero." Before matt could even ask a small figure flew past straight to a plate of strawberry shortcake. It was the stuffed toy he was looking at earlier; he didn't know how to respond to that. "I have a lot of explaining to do, but we like to ask you something." She asked. Matt nodded his mouth was too dry to speak. He then took a sip of tea before it went cold. "Did you ever know your dad was a spy?" matt shook his head but then he remembered.

"Actually," he began. "I think there was one time." As he took a breath he then began explaining to both sakura and Madison about his dad. "My father, Mahon Ishida, always told me he worked as an overseas financial reporter. Why did I believe him? Financial Reporters don't usually spend weeks or even months away from home, then returning with strange scars and bruises that they are reluctant to explain. "They don't receive phone calls in the middle of the night and disappear at the drop of a hat. And how many of them are proficient in Thai boxing and karate; speak three languages and keep themselves in perfect physical shape?" Matt was talking about his dad. Mahon Ishida was a secret agent; a spy. From the day he left Tokyo University, he had worked for the Special Operations division of JIN 7. Just about everything he told matt and everyone he knew was a lie, but he believed him because, as a child from a broken family, matt had lived with him all his life. And, because when you're 8 years old you believe what adults say. But there was one occasion when he came very close to realising the truth. It happened one Christmas, at the ski resort of Showdown, Montana. Although he didn't know it at the time, this was going to be the last Christmas we would spend together.

By spring before his 15th birthday, Mahon would have been killed on a mission in Cornwall, investigating the V Techs being manufactured. That was just a few weeks before his 15th birthday, when his life span out of control and was eventually to become a spy himself.

Created in 1936 and originally called King's Hill Ski Area. It was in the centre of the state of Montana, and if you've ever skied in America you'll know the set-up. There was a central village with gas fires burning late into the night, mulled wine and toasted marshmallows, and shops with prices as high as the mountains around them. They booked into a hotel, the breck, which was on the edge of the village, about a five-minute walk to the main ski lift. The two of them shared a suite of rooms on the second floor. They each had their own bedroom, opening on to a shared living space with a balcony that ran round the side of the hotel. The breck was one of those brand-new places designed to look 100 years old, with big stone fireplaces, woven rugs and moose heads on the walls. He hoped they were fake, but they probably weren't. For the first couple of days they were on their own. The snow was excellent. There had been a heavy fall just before they arrived, but at the same time the weather was unusually warm, so they were talking powder and lifts with no queues. Soon they were racing each other down the dizzyingly steep runs high up over Showdown itself. It was on the third day that things changed. It began with two new arrivals that moved into the room next door: a father and his daughter who was just a couple of years older than matt. Her name was Gwendolyn but she preferred the name Gwen. Her dad lived and worked in Washington DC. She told me he was 'something in government', and I guessed she was being purposely vague. Her mother was a lawyer in New York. The two of them were divorced and Gwen had to share Christmases between them.

She was very pretty, with long black hair and blue eyes, only an inch taller than matt despite the age gap. She'd been skiing all her life, and she was fearless. Unlike matt, she had her own boots and skis. At the time his feet were growing too fast so, as usual, he'd had to rent. Gwen Sanders, a very pretty name. Her father was Charles Sanders, with silver hair, silver glasses and a laptop computer that hardly seemed to leave his side. He spent every afternoon in his room, working. Gwen didn't seem to mind. She was used to it, and anyway, now she had Mahon and Matt. Two more people arrived on the same day as Gwen. They were sharing a smaller room across the corridor. Matt noticed them pretty quickly because they rarely seemed to be far away, although they never spoke to him or Gwen, or anyone for that matter.

They were both men in their late 20s, smartly dressed and very fit. They could have graduated from the same college. One night in the hotel lounge Matt suggested they might be gay and Mahon laughed.

"I' don't think so, Matt. Try again"' He thought for a moment.

"Are they bodyguards?"  
"Better. At a guess, I'd say they're American Secret Service." Matt blinked.

"How do you know?"  
"Well, they're both carrying guns."  
"Under their jackets?" Mahon shook his head.

"You could never draw a gun out of a ski jacket in time. They've got ankle holsters. Take a look the next time you see them."

He looked at me over his brandy. 'You have to notice these things, Matt. Whenever you meet someone, you have to check them out... all the details. People tell a story the moment they walk into a room. You can read them.'

He was always saying stuff like that to matt. He used to think he was just passing the time. It was only much later he realised that Mahon had been preparing him. Just like the skiing and the scuba lessons. He was quietly following a plan that had begun almost the day he was born.

"Are they here with Charles Sanders?" Matt asked.

"What do you think?" Matt nodded.

"They are always hanging around. And Gwen says her dad works in government."

"Then maybe he needs protection." Mahon smiled. "Let's see if you can find out their names by the end of the week," he said. "And tell me the make of their guns." But the next day Matt had forgotten the conversation. It had snowed again. There must have been 10 inches on the ground, and it was bulging out over the roofs of the hotel like over-stuffed duvets. Gwen and Matt switched to snowboards and spent about five hours on the chutes, bomb drops and powder stashes at the bowl area high up over Bear Creek. He never thought he'd be using these skills again. By half past three, with the sun already dipping behind the mountains, they decided to call it a day. They were both bruised, exhausted and soaked with sweat and melted snow. Gwen went off to meet her dad for a hot chocolate. Matt went back to the breck on his own. He had just dropped the board off at the rental shop and was slouching into the reception area when he saw his father, sitting on the corner of a sofa. He was about to call out to him - but then he stopped. Something didn't feel right; he knew at once that something was wrong. It wasn't easy to explain, but he had never looked like this before. He was completely silent and tense in a way that was almost animal. Mahon had dark brown eyes, but right now they were cold and colourless. He hadn't noticed matt had come in: his attention was focused on the reception desk and a man who was checking into the hotel. He didn't know it yet but Matt was about to be caught in the middle of one of the most dangerous mission his father has ever been on.


	22. As White As Snow

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 22: As White As Snow **

Matt held the cup tightly between his finger and thumb and too k a sip of tea. Sakura and Madison were spellbound by the fabulous tale matt was telling of his childhood. Even Kero was amazed of matt's adventure.

"So then what happened?" he asked impatiently.

"Kero!" Sakura exclaimed. "Let matt have some tea before he finishes." Matt finished his tea and gave a sigh of relief the tea hit the spot and hydrated his throat, he was ready to continue. As he cleared his throat he then began by saying.

"Well I decided to do what my father had told me to do; so I read him."

"People tell a story," Mahon had said. "You can read them." Looking at the man at the reception desk, Matt tried to do just that. He was wearing a black roll neck jersey with dark trousers and a gold Rolex watch, heavy on his wrist. He had blond hair; an intense yellow and cut short. It almost looked painted on. Matt gave a guess and said he was 30 years old, with a pock-marked face and a lazy smile. He could hear him talking to the receptionist. He had a Bronx accent. So much for Chapter One. What else could he read in him? His skin was unusually pale. In fact it was almost white, as white as snow. He worked out; Matt could see the muscles bulging under his sleeves. And he had very bad teeth. That was strange. Americans are wealthy enough to stay in a hotel like this would have taken more care of their dental work.

"You're on the fourth floor, Mr Da Schnee," the receptionist said. "Enjoy your stay." The man had brought a cheap suitcase with him. That was also unusual in the land of Gucci and Louis Vuitton. He picked it up and disappeared into the lift. Matt walked further into the reception area and Mahon saw him. He knew he had been watching him.

"Is everything OK?" Matt asked.

"Yes."

"Who was that?"

"The man who just checked in? I don't know." Mahon shook his head as if trying to dismiss the whole thing. "I thought I knew him from somewhere. How was Bear Creek?" He obviously didn't want to talk about it, so Matt went up to his room, showered and got ready for dinner. As he made his way back downstairs, he noticed one of the Secret Service men coming out of their room. He walked off down the corridor without saying anything to matt. Gwen and her father weren't around. They ate. They talked. Mahon ordered half a bottle of wine for himself and a Coke for Matt. At around half past ten Matt found himself yawning, it was past his bedtime after all. Mahon suggested to matt to go up and watch TV.

"What about you?" He asked.

"Oh...I might get a breath of air. I'll follow you up later." he left him and went back to the room - and discovered that he didn't have the electronic card that would open the door. He must have left it inside when he was getting changed. He went back to the dining room. Mahon was no longer there. Remembering what he had said, Matt followed him outside.

And there he was. It was a night he will never forget.

There was a courtyard round the side of the hotel, covered with snow, a frozen fountain in the middle. It was surrounded by walls on three sides, with the hotel roofs - also snow-covered -slanting steeply down. The whole area was lit by a full moon like a prison searchlight. Mahon Ishida and the man who called himself Da Schnee were locked together, standing like some bizarre statue in the middle of the courtyard. They were fighting for control of a single gun, clasped in their hands, high above their heads. Matt could see the strain on their faces. But what made the scene even more surreal was that neither of them was making a sound. In fact they were barely moving. Both were focused on the gun. Whichever one brought it down would be able to use it on the other one. Matt called out. It was a stupid thing to do. He could have got his father killed. Both men turned to look at matt, but it was Mahon who took advantage of the interruption. He let go of the gun and slammed his elbow into Da Schnee's stomach, then bent his arm up, the side of his hand scything the other man's wrist. Matt had already been learning karate for only two years and recognised the perfectly executed sideways block. The gun flew out of the man's hand, slid across the snow and came to rest in front of the fountain.

"Go back, Matt!" Mahon shouted. It took him less than two seconds but it was enough to lose him the advantage. Da Schnee lashed out, the heel of his hand pounding into Mahon's chest, winding him. A moment later the blond man wheeled round in a vicious roundhouse kick. Mahon tried to avoid it, but the snow, the slippery surface, didn't help. He was thrown off his feet and went crashing down. Da Schnee stopped and caught his breath. His mouth was twisted in an ugly sneer, his teeth grey in the moonlight. He knew the fight was over. He had won. That was when he acted. Matt dived forward, throwing himself on to his stomach and sliding across the ice. Matt's momentum carried him as far as the gun. He snatched it up, noticing for the first time that it was fitted with a silencer. Matt had never held a handgun before. It was much heavier than he had expected. Da Schnee stared at matt with burning hatred.

"No!" Mahon uttered the single word quietly. It didn't matter what the circumstances were. He didn't want matt to kill a man. Matt couldn't do that. He knew it, even as he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. Matt emptied the gun - all seven bullets - but not at Da Schnee. Matt shot into the air above him, over his head. He felt the gun jerking in his hand. The recoil hurt his wrist. But then it was over. All the bullets had been fired. Da Schnee reached behind him and took out a second gun. His father was still on the ground; there was nothing Matt could do. As he lay where he was, his breath was coming out in white clouds. Da Schnee raised his gun. He could see him deciding which one of them he was going to kill first. As he waved the gun around he then decided to kill matt first. With the cold metal touching matt's forehead he thought it was all over. And that's when it happened. There was a gentle rumble and a ton of snow slid off the roof directly above him. Matt had cut a dotted line with the bullets and - as he had hoped - the weight of the snow had done the rest. Da Schnee just had time to look up before the avalanche hit him. Matt thought he opened his mouth -to swear or scream - but it was too late. The snow made almost no sound, just a soft thwump as it hit. In a second, he had disappeared. Buried under a huge white curtain. Mahon got to his feet. Matt did the same. The two of them looked at each other.

"Do you think we should dig him up?" Matt asked. Mahon shook his head.

"No. Let's leave him to chill out." There were so many things Matt wanted to know. When they finally got back to their room.

"Who was he? Why did he have a gun? Why were you fighting him?" Mahon had phoned the police. They were already on the way, he told matt. He would talk to them when they arrived. The gun he and Da Schnee had been fighting over was beside him. He could still feel the weight of it in his hand. Matt's wrist was aching from the recoil; he had never fired a handgun before and his hands were shaking not from the cold, but from the shock.

"Forget about it, Matt," he said. "I recognised Da Schnee from a news story. He's a wanted criminal. Bank fraud..."

"Bank fraud?" Matt could hardly believe it.

"I met him outside quite by chance. I challenged him - which was pretty stupid of me. He pulled out the gun...and the rest you saw." Mahon smiled. "I expect he'll have frozen solid by now. At least he won't be needing a morgue." If he'd thought a little more, matt would have realised that none of this added up. When he had come upon the two men, they were fighting for control of a single gun. They had dropped it - and then Da Schnee had produced a second gun of his own and was going to kill him. So logic should have told him the first gun belonged to his father. But why would he have brought a gun with him on a skiing holiday? How could he even have got it through airport security? It was such an unlikely thought - Mahon carrying a firearm - that he accepted his story because there was no alternative. Matt was exhausted. It had been a long day and he was glad to crawl into bed. The next morning Mahon told matt he wouldn't be coming skiing. Apparently he'd spoken to the police when they finally arrived, and they wanted him to go to the precinct and tell them as much as he could about Da Schnee and the fight outside the hotel. The bad news was; Da Schnee had got away. "He must have burrowed out," Mahon said over breakfast; boiled eggs and grilled bacon. He never ate anything fried.

"Do you think he'll come back for me?' Matt asked nervously. Mahon shook his head.

"'I doubt it. He knows I recognised him and he's probably out of Montana by now. He won't want to hang around."  
"How long do you think you'll be?"  
"A few hours. Don't let this spoil the holiday, Matt. Put it out of your mind. You can ski with Gwen today. She'll be glad to have you on your own." He then winked at matt. Matt felt embarrassed. He didn't think of Gwen in that way, he already had a crush on someone, someone in his class.


	23. Going Downhill

**Agent Matt**

**Chapter 23: Going Down Hill**

"Wow!" Kero exclaimed. "That was neat move you did, you've got to teach me that."

Sakura looked at kero angrily. "O...or not!" he quivered.

"Kero, if you interrupt matt one more time there'll be no pudding, I want to find out what happened." Sakura then turned to matt and looked at him with anticipating eyes for matt to finish his story.

"Anyways I finished breakfast and went upstairs to see Gwen but Gwen wasn't in her room. When I knocked on her door, it was opened by her father, Charles."

"I'm sorry, Matt," he said. "You're just too late. She left a few minutes ago. But she'll probably call in later. I can ask her to meet you."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll be up at Bear Creek." He nodded and closed the door, and as he did so matt looked over his shoulder and saw he wasn't alone. The two young men were with him; one sitting on the sofa, the other standing by the window. The Secret Service men. Matt could see his desk too. There, as always, was the laptop, surrounded by a pile of papers. If this was a holiday, I wondered what Charles Sanders did when he was at work. As matt went downstairs to the boot room and a few minutes later he was clumping out to the ski lift with his skis over his shoulder. He wondered if Gwen would be able to find matt. There were quite a few people around, and the thing about skiers is they all look more or less the same. On the other hand, he was wearing a bright green jacket; a North Face Freethinker. She'd already joked about the colour and he was sure she'd recognise it a mile away. But he saw her before she saw matt. The nearest lift to the hotel was a gondola, taking 20 people at a time up to an area called Shadow Ridge, about 1,000 metres higher up. Gwen was at the front of the queue, standing between two men. He knew right away they weren't ski instructors. They were too close to her, sandwiching her between them as if they didn't want to let her slip away. One of them was round-faced and white. The other looked Korean or Japanese. Neither were smiling. They were big men: even with the ski suits he got a sense of over-worked muscle. Gwen was scared, he saw that too. And a moment later he saw why. A third man had gone ahead of them and was waiting inside the gondola. He only glimpsed his face behind the glass but he recognised it instantly. It was Da Schnee. His hood was up and he was wearing sunglasses, but his pale skin and ugly teeth were unmistakable. He was waiting while the other men joined him with the girl.

Matt ran towards them, but he was already too late. Gwen was inside the gondola. The doors slid shut and the whole thing jerked forward, rising up over the snow. Gwen caught sight of matt just as she was swept away. Her eyes widened and she jerked her head in the direction of the hotel. The message was obvious. Get help!

Gwen was being kidnapped in broad daylight. It was crazy, but there could be no doubt about it.

Matt turned and began to run...

He was running to get help. Seven years later, he might have tried to do something himself. Three men had grabbed Gwen - and they weren't expecting trouble. He might have gone after them, taking the next gondola and tracking them down. It might have occurred to him to stop the gondola in mid-air. But, of course, everything was very different then. He was only 8 years old. Matt was on his own in a Montana ski resort called Showdown. And he wasn't even certain about what he'd just seen. Could he really be sure that Gwen was being kidnapped? And if so, why? According to his father Mahon, Da Schnee, the kidnappers' leader, had been involved in some sort of bank fraud. Why would he be interested in the daughter of...? But Gwen's father, Charles Sanders, worked for the US government. He travelled with a pair of Secret Service men. That was when matt knew he was right. Whatever was happening to his daughter, it must be aimed at him. He was the one matt had to tell.

He stabbed at his skis and poles into a mound of snow and ran back as fast as he could to the hotel - not easy in ski boots. You were meant to take your boots off downstairs, but he just clomped right in, through the reception area, into the lift and up to the second floor, where all our rooms were. Because of the layout of the hotel, he got to the suite he shared with Mahon before he reached Charles's room. Acting on impulse, he went into the suite. Mahon had said he was going to the police precinct to talk about Da Schnee, but there was a chance he would still be there. If he told Mahon what had happened, he would know what to do.

But he had already gone. Matt turned round and was about to leave when he heard someone talking. He recognised the voice. It was Gwen's dad. He was standing outside on the terrace, talking into a phone. Matt went over to the French windows and saw him standing with his back to him. He was talking into the cordless phone from his hotel room. He could tell straight away there was something very wrong - his whole body was rigid, like he'd just been electrocuted. Matt heard him speak.

"Where is she? What have you done with her Da Schnee?" It had to be him at the end of the phone, calling on a mobile. He'd taken the girl and now he was talking to the dad, just like in the movies. What was he demanding? Money? Somehow, Matt didn't think so. If you were into the money-with-menaces business, you'd be after the film stars and multi-millionaires staying at the resort. Gently, he slid the window open so he could hear more. "OK," Sanders spoke slowly. In the cold air his breath was white smoke, curling around him. "I'll bring it. And I'll come alone. But I'm warning you..." Whoever was talking to him had already cut him off. Sanders lowered his arm, the phone sitting loose in his hand. As far as Matt was concerned, that should have been it. He liked Gwen but he hardly knew her. Her dad had two Secret Service men somewhere in the hotel. Maybe they were still in the room, waiting for him to come back inside. This was none of his business. But somehow he couldn't leave it there. At the very least, he had to know what was going to happen. He told himself he wasn't going to get involved, that he was being stupid. But he still couldn't hold back.

When Charles came out of his room five minutes later, he was waiting for him in the corridor. He had changed into his ski suit and - here was the weird thing - he was carrying his laptop computer. It was sticking out of a black nylon bag. As he went downstairs he pushed it inside and fastened the zip. There was no sign of the Secret Service men - but he'd heard what he said on the phone: he wasn't going to involve them. Wherever he was heading, he was going alone.

Matt followed him downstairs, out of the hotel and across to the gondola that carried skiers up to the mountains. He picked up his skis and poles on the way. He had his skis too. The laptop was hanging around his chest in its nylon bag, slightly hidden under one arm. There weren't many people at the gondola now. Ski school had begun and the various classes were already practising their snowploughs on the lower slopes. He watched Gwen's dad hold his lift pass out to be scanned, waited a few moments, then he did the same. He'd pulled up his hood and put on his goggles.

They got into the same gondola and were only a few inches apart. But even if he looked in matt's direction, he knew he wouldn't recognise him. Anyway, he wasn't taking any notice of the people around him. He looked sick with worry. Five minutes later they got out at Black Ridge, a wide shelf in the mountains with three other lifts climbing in different directions. Charles put on his skis and matt did the same. He knew Charles was a strong skier, but he reckoned he could keep up with him. Matt didn't need to worry. He skied only as far as the nearest lift - a double chair - and took it up to Showdown Mountain. There was just one more lift that went up from here. It led to an area called The Dagger. It was as high as you could get, so high that even on a bright day like today the clouds still licked the surface of the snow. Once again matt went with him, just a few chairs behind. Da Schnee was waiting for him at The Dagger. After they got off the lift, he stayed behind, tucked in close to the lift building's brickwork, watching as Charles Sanders skied down about 30 metres to a flat area beside the piste known as Breakneck Pass.

The name tells you all you need to know. It was the only way down, a double black diamond run of ice and moguls that started with a stomach-churning, zigzagging chute, continued along the edge of a precipice and then plunged into a wood, with no obvious way between the trees. Not many people came up here. Matt's father said you'd need nerves of steel to take on Breakneck. Or a death wish. On top of a run could the Dagger it wasn't surprising. Waiting with Da Schnee were the fat man and the Korean he'd seen helping him kidnap Gwen at the gondola earlier. They had a scared-looking Gwen trapped between them. No one could see matt.

I was 30 metres higher up, and the clouds and snow flurries chasing along the mountain ridge separated matt from them. He wiped the ice off his goggles and watched.

Charles said something. Gwen started forward but the two men held her back. Now it was Da Schnee's turn. He was smiling. He saw him point at the laptop. Sanders hesitated but not for very long. He lifted it off his shoulder and handed it over. Da Schnee nodded to his companions. They let Gwen go and she slithered - matt wouldn't even call it skiing - across to her dad. He put an arm around her. The business was finished...Except that it wasn't. Matt hadn't decided what he was going to do - until he did it. Suddenly he found myself racing down the slope, his legs bent and his shoulders low, his poles tucked under his arms, picking up as much speed as he could. Nobody was looking his way. They didn't realise he was there until it was too late.

Matt was moving so fast that, to them, I must have been no more than a blur. He snatched the laptop out of Da Schnee's hand and kept going, over the lip and down the first stretch of Breakneck Pass. In the next few seconds he found himself almost falling off the edge of the mountain, poling like crazy to avoid the first moguls and, at the same time, managing to get the bag strap over his head so the computer dangled behind him. He nearly fell twice. If he'd had time to think what he was doing, he'd probably have lost control and broken both his legs. But instinct had taken over. He was 20 metres down the chute and heading for the next segment before Da Schnee even knew what had happened.

He didn't hang around. He heard a shout and somehow he knew, without looking back, that the three men were after him. Da Schnee wanted the computer. Sanders had given it to him.

So he and his daughter weren't needed any more. Matt was the target now. All he had to do was get down to the bottom, which couldn't be more than two or three thousand metres from where he was. It was just a pity there was no one else around. If he could get back into a crowd, he'd be safe. Suddenly he heard a crack. A bullet slammed into the snow inches from his left ski. Who had fired? The answer was obvious but even so Matt found it hard to believe. Was it really possible to ski in these conditions and bring out a gun at the same time? The snow was horrible, wind-packed and hard as metal. His skis were grinding as they carried matt over the surface. He was grateful his father had insisted on choosing his equipment for him; he was using Nordica twin tips, wide under the foot and seriously stiff. It had taken him a while to get used to them but the whole point was that they were built for speed. Right now they seemed to be flying, and as he carved and pivoted around the moguls he almost wanted to laugh. He didn't think anyone in the world would be able to catch up with him. But he was wrong. Either Da Schnee and his men had spent a long time training for this or they'd been experts to begin with. He came to a gully and risked a glance back. There were less than 15 metres between them and they were gaining fast.

Worse still, they didn't seem to be exerting themselves. They had that slow, fluid quality you get in only the best skiers. They could have been cutting their way down a nursery slope. Matt cursed myself for getting involved in the first place. Why had he done it? This had nothing to do with him. But then he made it to the woodland. At least the trunks and branches would make it harder for anyone to take another shot at him. He was lucky he'd done plenty of tree skiing with Mahon. He knew that he had to keep up speed otherwise he'd lose control. Go too fast, though, and he'd risk impaling himself on a branch. The secret is balance. Or luck. Or something. He didn't really know where he was going. Everything was just streaks of green and brown and white. He was getting tired. Branches were slashing at his face; his legs were already aching with all the twists and turns and the laptop was half-strangling him, threatening to pull him over backwards.

One of his skis almost snagged on a root. He shifted his body weight and cried out as his left shoulder slammed into a trunk - it felt as if he'd broken a bone. He almost lost control. One of the men shouted something. He couldn't see them but it sounded as if they were just inches away. That gave matt new strength. He shot forward on to a miniature ramp, which propelled him into the air and through a tangle of branches that scratched at his face and tore at his goggles. He was in the clear. The wood disappeared behind him and he fell into a wide, empty area. But had landed badly. His skis slipped and there was a sickening crash as he dived headlong into the snow. His bones shuddered. Then he was sliding helplessly in a blinding white explosion. His skis came free. He was aware the surface underneath him had changed. It was smoother and more slippery. He stretched out a hand and tried to stop himself, but there was no purchase at all. 'Where was I?' he thought. At last he slowed down and stopped. Breathless and confused, He was sure he must have broken several bones. The laptop was round his throat and the ground seemed to be cracking up where he lay. No, actually it was cracking up.

As he struggled to his feet, I realised what had happened. He had gone spectacularly off-piste. There was a frozen lake on the west side of the mountain called Icelake. He had landed right next to it and managed to slide in. He was on the surface of the ice. And it was breaking under his weight. Da Schnee and the two men had stopped on the edge of the lake. All three were facing matt. Two of them had guns. His goggles had come off in the fall and Da Schnee recognised matt.

"You!" He spat out the single word. He didn't sound friendly. There were about ten metres between us. Nobody moved. "Give me the laptop," he demanded. Matt said nothing. If he gave him the laptop, he would kill him. That much he knew. 'Give me it or I will take it,' he continued. There was the sound of something cracking. A black line snaked towards his foot. Matt steadied himself, trying not to breathe. Water, as cold as death, welled up around him. He wondered how much longer the ice would hold. If it broke he would disappear forever.

"Why don't you come and get it?" Matt said. Da Schnee nodded and the Korean man stepped forward. Matt could see he wasn't too happy about it - I guess he'd been chosen because he was the lightest of the three. But he wasn't light enough. On the third step, the ice broke. One minute he was there, the next he was down, his arms floundering and his face filling with panic as he tried to grip the sides of the hole. His breath came out as great mushrooms of white steam. He tried to scream but no sound came out. His lungs must already have frozen.  
He had taken a gun with him. They had only one other. Da Schnee snatched it from the fat man - at least there was no way he was going to trust his weight on the ice - and pointed it at matt.

"Give me the laptop," he said. "Or I will shoot you where you stand."

"What will you do then?" He said. Matt took another step, moving away from the edge of the lake. The ice creaked. He could feel it straining underneath his feet. "You can't reach me. You're too heavy."

"The ice will harden in the night. I'll return for it tomorrow."

"You think the laptop will still be working? A whole day and a night out here?"

"Give it to me!" Da Schnee didn't want to argue any more. Matt could almost see his finger tightening on the trigger. He had absolutely no doubt that he was about to kill me.

'Matt . . . get down. Now!'

His father's voice came out of the wood. As Da Schnee spun round, He dropped low, hoping the sudden movement wouldn't crack the ice. At the same time there were two shots. Da Schnee had fired first. He'd missed. Matt's father hadn't. Da Schnee seemed to throw his own gun away. He had been hit in the shoulder. He sank to his knees, gripping the wound. Blood, bright red in the morning sun, seeped through his fingers.

Mahon Ishida appeared. Matt had no idea how he'd managed to follow us down from The Dagger. He'd never so much as glimpsed him. But that must have been what he'd done.

He skied to the very edge of the lake and spoke to matt, his eyes never leaving Da Schnee or the other man.

"Are you all right, Matt?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Come back over here. Give me the laptop and get your skis back on." Matt did as he was told. He'd begun to tremble. He'd like to say it was just the cold but he was not sure that would be true.

"Who are you?" Da Schnee demanded. He'd never heard a voice so full of hate.

"Your skis. Both of you . . ." His father raised the gun. The two men took off their skis. He gestured. They knew what to do. Da Schnee and the fat man threw their skis into the lake.

Meanwhile, the Korean had managed to pull himself out. He was lying there shivering, blue with cold.

"Enjoy the rest of the day, gentlemen," His father said, and he and Matt set off together. Da Schnee and the others would have to walk down. It would take them hours - and he had no doubt the police would be waiting for them when they arrived. And that was it really. What you might call matt's first mission. Gwen and her dad left the resort that day. He thought he'd never see them again but in fact he met Gwen a couple of years later. She told him that her dad had been working in the office of America's Secretary of State for Defence - and his laptop had contained classified information about the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq. If it had leaked, the result would have been a huge embarrassment for the US government.

Someone must have paid Da Schnee to steal the laptop, but he had failed. So he then engineered the kidnap and the attempted ransom. Something like that, anyway. He never did find out how his father had arrived just in time to rescue him. He said it was just luck, that he'd seen Da Schnee on the gondola and followed him up the mountain while he was racing back to the hotel. Maybe that was true. He also said the gun he'd used was the same gun he'd snatched in the fight the night before. That certainly wasn't. The funny thing was, they hardly talked about it again while they were in Montana. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement between them. Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. When Matt look back on it, he wonder how stupid he could have been not to see what Mahon Ishida really was. A spy. But then again, he didn't know what matt was either - what he'd made matt. He remembered he pretended to be very angry that matt put himself in danger. But at the same time he could see that secretly he was pleased. He'd been training matt all his life to follow in his footsteps, and what happened at Showdown had shown him that was ready.

And that was just as well. In a few years time, he'd neededto be. After matt concluded sakura, Madison and Kero were just amazed on how matt manage to do his first mission at 8 years old. Sakura didn't know what to say, matt had finished his slice of strawberry shortcake. Matt looked at sakura who was a holding a pink book.

"Now that I've explained how I became a spy, I think it's time you explained...that!" he pointed at Kero, still unsure about him. Kero stared back at matt, with a glimmer of anger in his eyes. Sakura put a hand between him and Kero, to stop him mauling at matt's face. Sakura took a deep breath and began to explain everything from the chairs and gym equipment piled up in the playground back in elementary and why she was acting so weird. It only took ten minutes to explain and matt believed her. He nodded his head and accepted it. He then looked outside the window, it was getting dark and matt promised Julie he'd be home before it got dark. As he thanked sakura and Mr. Avalon for having him he got on his bike and pedalled off home. Sakura wanted to tell him something but left it. She had dinner and went to bed. A card sat on the desk she smiled and fell asleep, the card suddenly fell open and inside read.

_To Sakura,_

_Happy birthday, sorry for this card being late_

_I'll explain later, I don't care what they say your my friend_

_I'm not going to lie to you_

_Hope your birthday is a good one._

_From_

_Matt _


End file.
